Three Simple Gifts
by Proud Titania
Summary: Cinderella, only better! What if there was no fairy godmother and the magic of the story doesn't just lie in a beautiful dress and glass slippers? A classic tale for those who believe in magic...
1. An Almost Perfect Life

Disclaimer: This is actually based upon a myriad of fairy tales, so I do not know if I truly owe anybody credit. This is not quite any particular version of the Cinderella story, but just in case, I salute the good Grimm Brothers, Charles Perrault, and any other story-teller who regaled crowds with the rags to riches dream…

"_You say you love me," she teased. "How can this be if you do not even know me?"_

"_I do know you, I swear it! I have met you before, certainly!" the Prince responded. "Ah.. if only you would tell me your name…!"_

_Her laughter chimed over the violins as they danced past the orchestral ensemble. _

"_Very well, I shall put a test before you. If you can answer my riddle, I will consider…"_

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Emma de Winter had been the first and only child of Lord Maximilian de Winter and the Lady Elizabeth. The Lady sadly died in labour and the Lord went into mourning for a year. When he emerged from his sorrowful state and shed the black robes of the widower, he gazed upon his newborn child and was delighted to see that she bore a resemblance to her mother.

Lord de Winter doted upon his lovely daughter and found every comfort and solace in knowing that his wife had given her life in order to bring this delightful creature into the world. Emma was a willful girl and gave many of the servants trouble, but was never reprimanded by her father, who was far too fond of his daughter to fault her in any way.

Emma became spoiled by her father's constant attention and was rather shocked when he remarried shortly after her thirteenth birthday. In truth, Lord de Winter had not wanted to marry, but had been forced into the marriage through financial and familial circumstances. His presence at court had become undesired and he was seen by many as a foolish and ignorant man. His father, a man who saw only what was reflected in the eyes of the courtiers, was only too pleased to present his son with a second wife.

The Duchess of Westbourne was a widow, with one child from her first marriage. This was a pretty, but rather foolish girl, called Maria. Lord de Winter did not understand her reasoning in marrying beneath her title, but later learned that this was also out of necessity. The woman was intolerable and simply put, nobody else would take her.

She had spoiled Maria even more than de Winter had spoiled Emma, which resulted in a great deal of argument between the two girls. Maria became accustomed to the idea that she was better than most people, and her greatest pleasure was in reciting the details of her lineage to Emma, who would fume silently, while tolerating this celebration of ego.

The truth was, Emma was afraid of these two women who had come from nowhere and invaded her household. She had never before been faced with competition for her father's attention. While de Winter would gladly have devoted all of his time and life to his daughter, rather than spending time with his intolerable wife, he found himself bound up by obligations which seemed to appear hourly at the whim of the Duchess. Emma was intimidated by the power which this woman exercised over her father and feared for her own future at the hands of this woman. Tragically, she would not have to wait long before it was unleashed entirely upon her…

A/N: Yes, rather short, but, then again, I do not have a great deal of patience when I start stories. If I receive any sort of response, I will continue. There are a great many ideas brewing!

Titania


	2. Lashings and Cold Laundry

The graveyard had long since emptied out, but one girl still stood by a mound of freshly-overturned earth. Her father's body, wasted by a strange disease, lay buried beneath it; her tears fell freely down her cheeks as she realised that she had lost the only person who had truly loved her.

A strange condition for a girl with titled parents, to be sure, but Emma de Winter was no longer a girl with parents. Orphaned at the age of 13, she was now left with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. Her stepmother was a cruel woman and her stepsister was selfish and wicked. Her grandfather, who had arranged the marriage, cared no more for the little girl than he had cared for her father. He had always seen him as a fool and a daydreamer, and his child appeared to be no better.

The stepmother had, rather unwillingly, acquiesced to care for the orphaned girl. This did not mean that she actually had any affection for her, which would manifest itself in the treatment the girl was to receive.

For now, Emma stood over the grave, wondering what cruel spirit had stolen first her mother and now her father from her.

"Why did you leave me, Papa? You know she is a cruel woman! Why did you leave me!" Her sobs echoed through the empty graveyard and frightened a small group of swallows which had alighted on the tree that covered the grave.

"Emma?" a voice rang out. "Emma, you wicked child. Come, it is time to go home."

Emma recognized in this voice the harsh tones of her stepmother, and she inched closer to the little grave. The Duchess emerged through the underbrush, swiping at nonexistent burrs on her skirt.

"You little fool, everybody left hours ago! What are you still doing here?"

"I wanted to say farewell to Papa…"

"Your Papa is dead, and you would do well to remember that you belong to me now."

"I don't belong to you! Papa asked you to care for me, and you make it sound as though, as though-"

"You are my slave? When I am through with you, you will be little better, don't worry. Max spoiled you, and it is my duty to see that you are taught to work," she finished with a sneer. "Now come along!"

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Years passed, and Emma grew older. The Duchess had moved back into her own palace, and Emma became one of the servants there. The first year had been the most difficult, for Emma had been raised a privileged child and had never known a day's work in her life. The Duchess had her taken to the Servants' Quarters in the palace and had assigned to her the most grueling, never-ending tasks.

That first day, Emma had washed all of the flagstones of the entrance hall. Since it was the first week after the death of her husband, the Duchess had a great many sympathizers over to visit and pity her. Emma washed and re-washed the same flagstones, as muddy boots dragged in more and more dirt into the entrance hall. By the end of the day, her fingers were red and raw with effort, and her face was grimy with sweat and dirt. The entrance hall was still filthy, for she had retired, exhausted, before the last guests had arrived.

The Duchess, upon seeing the dirty floors, gave Emma a lashing and told her to work harder if she wanted to retain her position. Emma wanted nothing more than to leave, but her mind sensibly advised her to listen, for where would she go?

Lord de Winter had lived in a mansion far from the capital city, in a country region, tucked away between two mountains. The Duchess's mansion, however, was located in the very centre of the capital, which stood on the seashore and was known for its magnificent ports. It was the first time that Emma had ever seen the sea, and whenever she found a spare moment, she would sneak over to the cliffs which marked the rift between land and sea. She loved to stare at the foamy depths and wonder how life might be different in the lands which this sea might carry her to.

Before leaving, Emma had managed to snatch up a small treasure of possessions. Her mother had owned a beautiful gilded silver mirror, which was marked with lovely roses all around the edges. She had also left her a beautiful bracelet of silver, so fine it looked as if it might break, and so small that it could only fit on Emma's slender, child-like wrist.

Emma tucked these precious gifts into a small sack of books, wrapped in the dirtiest dust cloth she could find. Knowing how averse Maria and the Duchess were to reading, and knowing how the Duchess could not tolerate filth, Emma was able to transport these things to the palace without the Duchess suspecting their presence.

A small passage from the Servants' Quarters led to a small wooden building outdoors, which was rather dusty and rotting from disuse. In this abandoned building, Emma hid her treasures, and sought peace from long days of work.

Before her father had died, he had passed to his daughter his love of the hunt and his great talents at shooting from a bow and riding. His most magnificent stallion, a purebred called Snowflake (lovingly named by Emma for his white colour, when she was but nine), was coveted by the Duchess, who saw him as a chance to show off. She did not ride on horseback, herself, but she loved nothing more than to lead her guests into the stables and boast before his gleaming coat.

Snowflake was one of Emma's greatest comforts, for when the Duchess went out of town, she would sneak away from the palace, saddle him, and ride through the surrounding woods. These revels were short-lived and she would often return quickly, for fear that the Duchess might suspect her prize horse had been taken out at all. Snowflake appreciated these rides, as well, for he received very little exercise.

Upon one occasion, when Emma was sixteen, the Duchess was indisposed with guests and asked one of the servants, a boy called Henry, to fetch several lengths of cloth from a local milliner. Henry had taken a liking to Emma and often followed her around, for he saw that she was a kind girl and put up with the stepmother's malevolence. He did not understand why the Duchess hated the girl so much, for nobody knew that Emma was her stepdaughter. Before she had taken Emma home, the Duchess had made her swear never to reveal that to anybody; she had no patience to deal with the foolish whims of children who thought that they could attach themselves to her. She was offering her a place in her household and thus she would fulfill her promise to care for her late husband's child. From that day forth, Emma had ceased to call the Duchess "Mother", and began to call her "M'lady".

At any rate, Henry pitied this girl who was, for no particular reason, so hated by the Duchess, yet never left. As he was riding toward the milliner's shop, he stopped his cart and leaned over the side to look down at the stream by the palace. At the side of this stream, Emma was washing a pile of clothing, all Maria's, which had all been worn in one day. The water was freezing and snow fell gently in her hair and on her clothes. Henry shouted down to her to get inside and warm up, but Emma shook her head, saying that the Duchess had sent her here to get these things washed.

"The clothes'll freeze 'fore you're finish'd washin' 'em! Or, at any rate, you will!"

"I'll be fine, Henry. You had better go and pick up the material. She'll be after your blood if you're late, you know that."

"Can I bring anythin' back for you, Miss?" he shouted down, with a grin.

"Don't call me that," she snapped, thinking of the days when she was known only as "Miss" or as "Dearest Emma" with pain.

"A'ight, can I bring anything' back for you, _Emms_," he amended, flashing another grin at her.

"Bring me whatever falls on your thick head!" she cried, frustrated with his teasing.

Henry smiled again and set off, wondering what it was that he would bring back for pretty little Emma, the scullery maid.

A/N: Questions? Comments? Please let me know! I am very much enjoying writing this and school is almost over, so I will be able to finish this story! I just need a little nudge from reviewers…

For those who have reviewed… THANK YOU! I am very grateful for your response and I hope this chapter met your expectations!

Titania


	3. The Prince and the Cinder Girl

"_This will be my first clue: Who has a face covered with soot and ashes, but isn't a chimney sweep?"_

_The Prince looked puzzled and shook his head._

"_Ah, you have no answer for me, then?"_

Dominic was used to having his way. It didn't really matter what he did, exactly, as long as it was the opposite of what everybody wanted him to do. His greatest joy in life was fooling around with his two friends, Edward and Thomas, who were equally free from cares.

Not that Dominic was free from cares. Well, at least, not nominally. He was, after all, the prince. This meant that he had to take care of the kingdom and look out for the welfare of his subjects and something else that he ignored because at this point in his father's speech, he was already tuning him out completely.

His mother, though she put up with most of his foolishness, had now grown equally stern.

"You are going to be eighteen years old, for Heaven's sake!" she had exclaimed that morning. "What use are you to anyone now, with your horse and your bow? Do you intend to shoot down a princess like you would a pheasant?"

Dominic had laughed at this, thinking that his mother was teasing, as usual. He was startled, however, when she did not join in, but instead, stared at him sternly.

"Mum, that's Father's job," he commented, indicating her crossed arms.

"Not today. I've put up with your silly behaviour for long enough. No, no, I think it's time that you find yourself a wife. Perhaps she might reach you and your senses in a way that your father and I cannot," the Queen finished.

This had deeply upset Dominic, who usually went to his mother for support after a verbal beating from his father. Now she was berating him as well!

"Mum, I can't believe it's come to this. I don't want to get married anytime soon. I'm still young, and my life is still ahead of me. Do you honestly think that I-"

"Yes, I do! And you must!" she interrupted. "I will not see you live out your life in this terrible state."

Dominic pouted. "A terrible state, Mum?"

"Yes, just that! Your hunting and your frolicking and-"

"What's wrong with frolicking?"

"I won't dignify that with an answer."

"Aha! That's because you think that it isn't worthless or terrible after all, don't you?"

"I think that if you don't start to behave yourself and actually listen to your tutors, I will be forced to arrange a marriage for you. And I don't think that you really care for the Lady Theresa."

Dominic blanched. "The Lady Theresa?"

"Yes, yes," she continued in an offhand way, "the Earl of Wycourt's daughter. She only turned seventeen at the beginning of the season and is at a marriageable age."

"I won't marry her, Mother," he growled through gritted teeth.

"You will, unless you start to behave yourself."

The conversation had ended. Dominic stood for a few minutes, grinding his teeth and shooting daggers with his eyes. However, his father came in and he fled from the room like an affrighted rabbit, hoping to avoid more trouble.

And now here he was, riding through the forest, hoping to get away from the terrible sensation that there was no way to escape this terrible fate of marriage.

"Cheer up, Your Highness," Edward shouted from the back of his stallion.

"Don't tell him what to do, Ed," Thomas shouted from the other side of the Prince.

"Both of you, shut up!" Dominic snarled. "Or do you want the tutor to hear us?"

"He won't hear us, Dom, we lost him about five miles back," Thomas retorted.

Dominic slowed his horse to a walk and bent over its head. A heavy sigh escaped him, and he kept his head buried in the horse's mane.

"I just can't believe they're _both_ involved!" he finally exclaimed, lifting his head slightly.

"Well, you knew this day would come," Edward offered.

"I did? Yes, I suppose, but I didn't think this soon!" he exclaimed. "Where am I supposed to find a wife? And if I don't…" he shuddered.

The Lady Theresa was a true horror. She was not ugly, from a distance, but when you came close, oh! Her face was only pretty from far away because her features seemed enhanced. Upon close inspection, her person was so covered with paints as to make her look like a jester. And she was cruel. She took great pleasure in making her servants go to ridiculous lengths to please her.

He remembered a story that Thom had once told him about a mud puddle. Apparently, her ladyship had wanted to pluck a flower growing on the edge of the road. When a butler offered to fetch it for her, she had declined, saying she wanted to do it herself. There was, incidentally, a mud puddle in the road, right in front of the patch of grass where the flower was growing. She had demanded that the butler prostrate himself on the puddle so that she could walk over him without soiling the hem of her dress. He offered to carry her or to lay down a plank and a number of other things, but the girl had willfully gotten it into her head that she wanted him to lie down so she could walk over his back.

Dominic considered for a moment what kind of wife a woman like that would be. His pensive thoughts were broken by the sight of a pretty doe, wandering out in front of him. He paused and raised his bow, quietly, while Ed and Thom looked on from behind, excited to see him shoot it.

Suddenly, a giggle erupted from the side and, shortly thereafter, a snowball flew at his head and hit his ear.

The doe, startled, shot off, saved from certain death by a well-aimed shot at the Prince's head.

"What in the-?"

A girl's head swam before his eyes, huddled behind a tree, then disappeared again.

"Your Highness, are you alright?"

"I… yes, of course. Did you see who did that?"

"Some idiot girl. I don't know. She's behind that tree over there."

"Oh. Well, she frightened off our quarry! This won't do," he frowned, trying to regain his princely composure. He began to dismount, and started walking in the direction of the assailant.

The assailant promptly jumped out from behind the tree and took off at a run, kicking up snow and looking over her shoulder once in a while, laughing the entire time.

Dominic, very disturbed by now at her rude behaviour, gave chase and took off after her. He was shortly thereafter joined by Ed and Thom, who had stayed behind to tie up the horses.

The three young men ran after the girl, who was having the time of her life. Finally, she disappeared from view.

"Where did she go?" Dominic asked, catching his breath.

"I've no idea, sire."

"Oh, gentlemen?" a taunting voice came from a clump of trees on the edge of the snow-covered field.

"Well, catch her!" Dominic, caught off guard, exclaimed.

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As the men ran after her, Emma slid behind a rock and watched them continue their jog, thinking that she was still running ahead.

"_Idiots_," she murmured under her breath. "And they would have killed it, too.."

They disappeared from sight and she sank down, panting. Suddenly, she heard footsteps and turned around only to come face to face with one of them, who leered at her.

"Oh!" Just as she turned to run in the opposite direction, she found herself looking into another's eyes.

The third one, who was dressed in elegantly embroidered clothes, lazily walked up to her from the side.

"Well, she's just a baby!" the richly-dressed one exclaimed.

"Not an especially clean one, though," one of his friends muttered, wrinkling his nose in distaste at her attire, filthy from a day of labour.

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at each of them in turn. Who were they to make fun of her like this? She was a lady by birth and any gentleman would have known that upon seeing her, with or without the fancy clothes and clean face. At least, that was how she tried to comfort herself when the heads of state tramped over her head into the Duchess's parlour.

She looked around, trying to find a space through which to make her escape. The richly-dressed one looked her in the eyes at last, after an inspection of her dirty and badly-attired person.

"Well, what's your name?"

This was met with an icy glower, which she bestowed upon the one addressing her.

"Oh, come on, why don't you tell us and we'll let you go."

"Or you could let me go and I won't tell you anything…"

"She does talk!" one of his friends exclaimed.

"Oh, yes, and she giggles, as well, if I recall correctly," the other added.

"She also hates pompous brats," Emma snarled. She then lunged at the well-dressed man's hat and pulled it over his face. This was quite unexpected and gave her the chance to run in the direction from whence they had come.

"Eh, you, come back here! Come back and apologise!" the men shouted as they chased her.

She ran faster through the snow and saw the men's horses standing before her. Grinning, she slipped the bridle of one into her palm and was sitting atop him in an instant. This was a magnificent stallion, about the size of her Snowflake. She kicked his sides and they were off. The last thing she heard was the shouts of the men, trying to catch up and yelling at her, before the wind filled her ears completely.

"There now, go back to your master," she told the horse lovingly after dismounting a fair distance away. "Go back, dear, and don't let him work you too hard. You deserve better than to be worked to the bone," she smiled.

Having seen the horse begin its trot back, Emma started her walk towards the palace. This had been a welcome diversion for the day, while the Duchess and Maria had gone into town for the jewels to match their new gown. However, it was now late afternoon and she did not want any of her friends to get in trouble for looking the other way while she ran off.

"I was a magnificent thing, too, once," she sighed to nobody in particular. "I don't deserve to be worked so hard, either."

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"What… eh… was… ah… _that_!" Dominic finally panted as the girl and his horse disappeared from view.

"Could you believe the nerve! Your horse, sire," Edward lamented.

"Yes, my horse. My horse which will throw her off before she's gone two metres!" he shouted at the trees.

"She did go two metres, Dom, and then some. And she looked well in control to me," Thom pointed out.

Just as Dominic was about to shoot him a dirty look, the horse ran back into the clearing and towards its owner.

"Well, at least she had the decency to return it," Ed smiled.

"Who _was_ she?" Dominic wondered.

"Some idiot peasant girl, Dom. They're common in these parts, you know," Thom added. He then laughed at his own joke.

"I swear, if I meet her again, I'll strangle her."

"Good luck with that, Dom. She'll probably beat you to it," Thom smirked.

In his own mind, Dominic thought that Thom was probably right. Some spitfire…

A/N: Oh, it's getting better, isn't it? Now that you properly get to meet the prince, it's more complex. Are you enjoying it? Hate it? Love it? Let me know, so I can amend or promote whatever is needed. The first of the gifts mentioned in the title is coming up, so check back soon. I will have it up as quickly as possible.

Thank you to my reviewers. You make me feel warm and fuzzy inside!

Titania


	4. Ribbons and Hazelnuts

"La-la-la-la…" Emma's song faded as she walked into the house. A stern glance met hers, but quickly melted into a smile.

"Vincent! I'm so sorry I am late. You wouldn't believe it if I told you, but as I was out walking-"

"Emma, dearest, I understand that you needed to be out, but you had better get back to your chores. We can't hide you from them forever," the older man sighed.

Vincent was the butler in the household and his position was fairly established. Despite all this, he had a very kind heart and he could not help but pity the poor little girl who suffered so much abuse at the hands of his mistress. He wanted Emma to confide in him, but quickly learned that she would tell nobody where she came from or how she had crossed the Duchess.

The household staff conjectured that she was a form of indentured servant, for why else would she remain under the Duchess's command?

"Have they returned from the jeweler's?" Emma inquired while taking off her thin coat. Her arms had turned a veritable blue in the cold, and she shivered slightly to come back into the warmth.

"Yes, and they wanted to see you."

"What? They wanted to see me?"

"Well, specifically, Maria did."

"Ah, that would explain it…"

Just as Emma had grown older, Maria had, as well. Much as she hated to admit it, Emma knew that Maria was absolutely beautiful. Her face was the palest shade of ivory, tinged only with roses on her cheeks. Her blue eyes were shaded by long black lashes, which rose and fell lazily over her eyes. Blonde curls, painstakingly arranged each morning before dawn, framed her lovely face. In short, she was the ideal of beauty.

Emma was not ugly, but she was not like her stepsister. Her face was simpler, her hair was lank and the colour of dishwater, and her eyes were more gray than blue. This is all if one saw past the dirt which habitually coated her face and body.

Maria, as before, loved nothing more than to lord over Emma and remind her of all that she did not have. She did this by trying on dresses and jewels and ribbons in front of her, tossing them about and telling Emma to retrieve them and give them to her. Emma would do so, attempting to dirty the beautiful things as much as she could in the process. She would never concede that Maria was the better of the two.

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Upon this occasion, Maria seemed far more excited than ever.

"Oh, Emma, just listen!"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Hush, Emma, you talk too much," she pouted. "I told you to listen."

Emma lowered her face and gave a small curtsy. At this, Maria beamed.

"Well, I am going to a ball two nights from now!"

"You go to many balls, Mar- Miss," Emma sullenly muttered.

"Oh, yes, but this one is special. You see, this ball is in honour of the prince! The entire royal family will be there, and it is said that the guest of honour will choose a bride that night!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Maria!" Emma finally exclaimed. "Everybody knows the prince is a dullard or possibly hideous. Why else would his family hide him from society as they have been doing these past years? Did you not tell me these things?"

Maria looked slightly offended. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"He is not hideous, silly girl. I have seen him. He is _far_ from hideous." A smile played around her lips. "As for his being a dullard, I could not believe that. His eyes are far too lovely."

"Honestly, Maria, how could _you_ possibly tell?" Emma finally burst out, frustrated. She often spoke to Maria in a condescending tone, not daring to let her be made a fool of, for she was a clever girl. This was the last straw, however. She was sick of being blunt. This comment did not escape Maria's notice.

"Are you implying that I myself am a fool?" Maria narrowed her eyes and stared at Emma. "If you are so wise, why is it that you are dressed in rags and scrub floors, whilst I attend parties with the most intelligent men in the country?"

"Fate is cruel, I suppose," Emma replied bitterly.

"You are never to call me 'Maria' again, do you understand?" she whispered. Her anger was finally aroused. "You are an idiot scullery maid and that is all you will ever be good for. If you dare to speak to me in that tone again, I will have Mother give you a decent flogging."

"Your mother does not know about these meetings of ours where you throw your things around for the scullery maid to pick up," Emma retorted.

Maria flushed, but quickly recovered her composure.

"I don't care. She will take my side no matter what, do you understand?"

"I suppose."

"Good. Now leave my sight," she commanded, pointing toward the door.

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Alone, Emma pondered the consequences of Maria's prattle. So, the prince was getting married? He was far from hideous, Maria had said. Emma had always thought that such a rumor could not be true. Princes were handsome, after all. How could they be otherwise?

If he was getting married, he might marry Maria. She was very beautiful, after all. If he was a dullard, which seemed likely, he would choose the prettiest girl, without caring whether she was cruel or idiotic. Yet… if Maria were to marry, she would leave Duchess's home and Emma would at least be free of her cruelty. It was a small price to pay, she thought, until she considered the damage Maria might do as queen. Again, she shuddered, though not from the cold.

Her thoughts drifted to the three strangers in the woods. They were obviously noblemen. All three were handsome, especially the best-dressed one. "Baby", he had called her. That was what all men thought of her, most likely. She was the dirty little girl. Foolish noblemen, she thought. The idiots couldn't even detect a lady in disguise. She liked to think of herself that way. She was a lady in disguise, hiding from a terrible enemy. It was not yet safe to take off the mask of dirt and reveal the glowing beauty underneath.

Her daydreams were interrupted by a shout.

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Dominic, Thomas, and Edward had been riding through the forest, vainly searching for game. It was as if the girl had warned every animal within riding distance. At long last, they saw movement.

To their surprise, it was not a fox or a doe, but a man in a wagon. He looked to be no older than they themselves were, but his face was smudged with dirt and his clothes were torn in some places. The cart swayed as he went forward and his eyes were glazed, as if he were not paying much attention.

Dominic spotted a tree limb which had a large nest resting on it. Smiling, he took out his bow and prepared to shoot. His arrow flew in a straight line and hit the nest, knocking it out of the tree and onto the boy's head. The boy, startled, gave a shout and slowed the horse. Dominic and the others had already run off, laughing loudly.

In his lap he held the remnants of the nest. He grinned and took its contents out: a small branch, to which were attached three little hazelnuts. Pleased with this discovery, the boy discarded the nest over the side and placed the stem in his pocket. The horse began its walk again.

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"Oy, Emms!"

"What is it, Henry?" Emma replied, jolted from her daydreams and shaking her head to clear it.

"I brought you a pres'nt!" His smile widened as he reached into his pocket.

"What's this about presents?" a voice intruded. The Duchess had entered the small kitchen where Emma was sweeping the floor and she stared at Henry, who looked taken aback.

"'S not much, M'lady. Just a lit'l thing. Not much, really," he stammered.

"Show me. Produce it immediately!" she shouted in response. Maria had also come in at this point.

Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out the small branch. The Duchess snatched it from him, inspected it, and laughed. She handed it to Maria, who also began to giggle delicately.

"Is it a gift from a squirrel, perhaps? Or a chipmunk. What great friends you are with woodland creatures, Emma!" the Duchess smirked.

"Why, she is even more of an idiot than I thought!" Maria exclaimed. "Oh, let her keep them, Mum, she won't do any harm with it. Maybe she'll enjoy herself. She has no toys, after all."

The Duchess nodded and Maria threw the branch at Emma, who did not even attempt to catch it. She looked truly miserable.

As the two women marched out, she turned to Henry with tears in her eyes.

"Why did you do that!" she whimpered.

"I…I didn' mean no 'arm, Emms. Oh, don' cry. Jest look!" He picked up the branch. "It fell righ' on my 'ead. Like you said, 'member? Righ' on my head…" he muttered, trying to console her by patting her arm awkwardly.

Emma sniffled a few times, then took the branch from him.

"Thank you, Henry. I am truly grateful."

"'S not much…" He shifted from foot to foot, uneasily.

"Oh, at least I know that somebody cares to remember what I say!" she smiled through tears.

At that very moment, in his room, stretched out on a chaise, the prince repeated to himself, "'She also hates pompous brats.'" It annoyed him a great deal that some stupid peasant girl's insult could get stuck in his head so easily.

A/N: Well, what do you think? Oh, it doesn't seem like much now, but there is a great deal to it! The next part of the riddle is coming up! Wait and see, I will have it up tomorrow, I swear! I hope everybody likes the character development. It's certainly different from the normal Cinderella story.

Oh, by the way, Maria's name is pronounced in the English fashion, "Mah-rye-ah". Just thought you should know!

Whatever you would like for me to add, please let me know. If there is something wrong, also let me know. I want to make this as lovely as possible!

I love you all!

Titania


	5. The First Gift and the Hunt

_The Prince was getting nervous. She had begun to circle him like a vulture and, although he couldn't see her eyes, he imagined that there was a hungry look in them._

"_The second part of my riddle… Are you prepared?" she queried._

"_I…I am, I suppose," he mumbled._

_She smiled briefly, and he saw the corners of her mouth turn up behind the veil. _

"_Who wears a hat adorned by a single hawk's feather, carries a bow, and hunts beasts, but is not a hunter?"_

"_I don't know, I'm sorry," the Prince replied, after a pause._

"_That's a shame. One clue left…"_

After the scene in the kitchen, Emma had picked up her skirts and daintily left the kitchen, feeling that much more like a lady because of Henry's simple gift. He watched her go with his mouth open, for she scarcely behaved as she had done in her youth, in the Duchess's palace. Now she marched like a lady, out of the kitchen and through the servants' quarters.

She reached the little wooden house and climbed in. A little cat was curled up in the corner, its furry stomach rising and falling as it breathed deeply in its sleep.

Emma took the branch and set it down next to the little box that held her treasures. She took out her mother's mirror and inspected its little glass window. The face that was reflected in it was smudged with soot and framed by lank hair. A stray strand fell over the forehead, which she brushed away with a dusty hand.

As her arm came back down with the mirror, the little branch of hazelnuts fell from the small shelf where she had placed it and onto the floor.

"Oh!"

The cat, which Emma had raised from a kitten and was called Birch, for the strange pattern of sparse black stripes on her white fur, woke up at Emma's exclamation and walked lazily over to the branch with an inquisitive meow.

"It's such a silly thing, Birch, but it means so much. I hope it isn't broken," Emma whispered nervously.

As she picked up the branch, she noticed that one of the hazelnuts had cracked. Disappointed, she inspected it more closely, only to discover something soft protruding from the inside of the hazelnut.

"What in the…?"

She took the small strip between thumb and forefinger and pulled.

"Oh my!"

The little nut had cracked open and its two halves fell on the floor and rolled into the little niches and grooves in its grain. On the floor, where Emma had dropped it in shock, was a complete hunting costume. The leather jerkin was entirely new, and perfectly folded. On top of the leggings and camisole, there lay a hat, sculpted to perfection, with a bold feather protruding from the end. A pair of riding boots stood by the little pile, next to a crossbow and a quiver of arrows.

"Oh…oh…this is mine! This is for me! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

She picked up the hat and playfully twirled it in her hand.

"Why, look, Birch, a fine hat! As fine a hat as even the Prince and his hunting party might have." She tenderly fingered the silk material of the stockings and the camisole and grinned. Tomorrow, the Duchess and Maria were going out in the afternoon, presumably to catch a glance at the ever-elusive prince. What a perfect chance to take Snowflake and her new clothes out…

From her vantage point on the shelf, by the remaining two hazelnuts, Birch purred. Her dear girl was to be rewarded for her patience and kindness. A bright intelligence shimmered behind her large blue eyes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dominic was having the time of his life. Sometimes, it really was worth it to be a prince, he thought to himself as he rode through the forest on his stallion. With him, a hunting party the size of a small village rode along, followed by a large pack of hunting dogs.

A little fox was being pursued by this entire party, and it feared the worst. With reason. In no time at all, the Prince had aimed his bow from horseback and killed the little beast. He dismounted and placed a little frond of leaves on its wound. The crowd cheered.

The head huntsman dismounted, as well. He looked proudly at the Prince, who was turning into a fine huntsman, indeed. His shot was as sharp as any, and his riding skills were impeccable.

"Bravo, Your Highness!" the man cheered. "And now, for the crowning glory." Here, he paused for dramatic effect, while taking something out of his pocket. He lifted it into the air and waited for the reaction.

In his hand, a brilliant ring glimmered in the daylight. It was emblazoned with the royal crest in diamonds, and the crowd was awed into silence.

"Whosoever is able to shoot a falcon from the sky will be named king of the hunt and awarded this prize!"

The crowd cheered again, and the younger men prepared their crossbows. A screech came from overhead announced the presence of the sought-for prey and many shots were fired, all in vain. Dominic, haughty and prepared to win, raised his own bow, after everybody had finished and prepared to shoot. He looked up into the sky and saw how far away the bird was in the sky now.

"It's impossible. He's too high. The arrow simply wouldn't reach," he sighed. The crowd seemed disappointed and, just as he was about to lower his bow, a shot was fired from a short distance and the bird fell to the ground in a few seconds.

"How…?" Dominic wondered aloud, staring, perplexed, at his bow, which still had the arrow firmly lodged in its place.

His question was answered by the arrival of a young huntsman, carrying a bow and smiling smugly.

"Was that your shot?"

"And who else might have done it?" the huntsman inquired, looking around at the open mouths, amused.

"Let me see your bow," Dominic demanded suspiciously.

The man extended it, glaring at Dominic all the while. The latter was left feeling very strange. He had done nothing truly to harm this youth, but he seemed to dislike him, in spite of this being their first meeting. He looked over the bow, but saw nothing unusual.

"It's fine. It's normal," he admitted after a pause.

"What, did you expect magic, perhaps?" the youth inquired sarcastically.

"That was an impossible shot," the Prince frowned.

"Ha! Any of our girls could accomplish such a thing."

"Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," he snapped. His hair was cut into a fashionable bob and the feather in his hat was quite long. His hunting costume was every bit as fine as Dominic's. This bothered him, somewhat. Still, he had won, fair and square.

"Your prize, sir," he intoned, placing the ring, which he had taken from the head huntsman, on the youth's gloved hand.

He peered at it, and his eyes opened with wonder.

"You want to give this to me?"

"You shot the falcon. This is the prize."

"Oy, why don't you show us what else you can do?" Thom called out.

The youth frowned again, and turned to him.

"You needn't make fun of me, you know."

"I'm not! I just want to see what you can do. Tell him," he pleaded Dominic.

"Please, sir, we would like to see what you can do."

"What would you have me do?"

Thom thought a bit. "See those pinecones? At the top of the tree?" He indicated a very tall spruce. "Shoot them down, then."

"Any fool with a bow and arrow can do that."

"Well, show us if you can," Dominic rejoined, pouncing. He was pleased to see the young huntsman squirming, for he been upstaged just recently and wanted to have his revenge.

"Very well," the youth replied, again glaring at Dominic. He seemed familiar somehow, but Dominic could not quite place it. The youth raised his bow to shoot and the arrow flew through the air with a whir. The crowd ran forward to see its descent.

When they reached the fallen arrow, they saw how it had cleanly pierced one of the pinecones. Amazed, they turned to again applaud the huntsman. Dominic did so rather grudgingly. However, when they turned, he was gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"What an idiot he is! And what an idiot _I _am!" Emma muttered as she ran. Her hat did not stay as she flew by and she held it in her hand. Her hair, no longer bound up, flew behind her wildly.

She could hear the sounds of the pursuing company and thought quickly. Snowflake was at least thirty yards away. They would catch her before that and then…

"No, they won't catch me," she asserted. She spotted a high tree with limbs sticking out from all sides. "Right, to work!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Where did he go?" Dominic shouted. They took of in pursuit in all directions. Dominic, who was good at tracking, thought he detected footfalls and ran in that direction. Just as he was running through a patch of dense shrubbery, he heard a giggle from above.

"Now what!"

"Oh, Sir?" an angelic voice came from overhead.

Frustrated, Dominic looked up. At a distance, he recognized the dirt-stained face of the little peasant girl.

"Why, you-" he stopped himself and changed his tone. "Miss, will you please tell me, have you seen a young huntsman come through here?"

"Why don't you come up here and I'll tell you?" she tested.

"Please come down," he said through clenched teeth, forcing a smile.

"I told you to come up!"

"And I am asking you to come down."

"No, I don't want to…"

"You terrible little shrew!"

"Overstuffed peacock!"

"Dirty simpleton!" But there was no response this time. He looked up again, shielding his eyes from the sun, but she seemed to have temporarily vanished. Well, she was up a tree: where could she possibly go?

"Sire? Have you found him?"

"No, just the girl."

"What girl, Dom?" Thomas asked curiously.

"The little peasant from yesterday!"

"Where!"

"In the tree, right there!"

"Ah, Dom, there's nobody there."

"Well, she was there just before!"

"Whatever you say, Sire."

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"Why not?"

"Nobody's around. You know I hate that title."

"Do you prefer 'Your Highness'?"

This was met with a growl.

"Oh, fine. Forget the girl. Let's go. We need to get back anyway."

"I suppose you're right," Dominic conceded. As they walked away, he cast a last glance at the giant tree, where he knew the little reprobate was hiding, no doubt giggling to her heart's delight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The voices carried up to Emma.

"Whatever you say, Sire."

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"Why not?"

"Nobody's around. You know I hate that title."

"Do you prefer 'Your Highness'?"

Emma took in a breath with a sharp gasp.

"Your Highness?" she thought to herself. "_That_ imbecile is the prince! Well, no wonder Maria likes him…"

After she was certain the two had left, she climbed down and ran towards Snowflake, who was tied up and patiently waiting for her.

"Come on, dear. That was very foolish for me to do. The next time I try to show off in front of the royal hunting party, remind me not to," she said with a smile, caressing her new ring. It shone brilliantly and reflected every beam of light.

As she rode towards the Duchess's palace, all she could think of was: "_I hit the Prince in the head with a snowball and I insulted him!_" The servant in her was certainly feeling remorse for such an act.

But, then again, another part of her was thinking as well. This was the part that had been taught to shoot by her father, the Lord de Winter, the part that had looked down upon balls from the balustrade, knowing that in a few years, she might take part in them. And this part whispered to her: "_You know he deserved it…_"

A/N: Well, what did you think? This is my favourite part, so far! I apologise about the killing of animals; I do not condone it in any way. However, it is a part of life and a major sport, then more so than now. Emma needed a way to show off that didn't involve snowballs!

I very much appreciate all of your reviews and I hope to have the next chapter up soon. As long as you keep reviewing, I will keep writing! I just want to know that people are enjoying it, so if you like it, let me know…

To InChrist-Billios: I very much like your reviews and I am glad you like the story. I think you will like the rest very much. I already know what is going to happen in the end!

To LauraShrub: Anybody who greets me in French is wonderful, so I thought you should know that. Oh, about the Prince… he's just a kid. That's why you want to whack him across the head, most likely. I hope this chapter doesn't make you hate him more!

To ShinyObjectsLover: Again, glad you liked it. The way he finds it is rather interesting, isn't it? Well, now you know it wasn't just random…

I love you all, as always!

Titania


	6. A Proposition

"I'm such a fool!" Emma whimpered as she ran back towards the house. The Duchess's voice was becoming steadily more audible and Emma's nerves were steadily running thin. The heavy hunter's clothes had taken ages to get off and each second that passed was agony. Her stepmother's angry yells enhanced this torture, as she painstakingly slid out of the silk stockings. Finally, dressed in rags and appropriately covered in dirt, she ran into the house, hoping that the Duchess was not too annoyed with her absence.

The Duchess, on her part, had been calling for Emma nigh on ten minutes, and she was growing more and more angry about the girl's absence.

"Where have you been, you pathetic little ingrate?" she screeched, as her dirt-covered stepdaughter slid into her study.

"I…am…sorry, my lady," she managed, between gasps for air.

"As you should be!" the Duchess responded, regaining her usual composure and staring at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She continued to do this and to simultaneously ignore the panting girl, until the latter finally spoke up.

"Did you want something, M'lady?" she apprehensively began.

"Yes, I did," the Duchess coldly responded, not turning to look at the person she was addressing.

There was a brief pause and then, "Today is your sixteenth birthday, Emma, is it not?"

"I…had forgotten," she finished, honestly. The truth was, when you lived in the Servants' Quarters, pretending to be a scullery maid, when you had once lived in a palace, as a lady, it was not easy to find any cause for celebration, least of all your birth. If anything, Emma often regretted her life and wondered what she, personally, could have done differently to change it.

The Duchess laughed merrily at this. "Yes, it is easy to forget when you have work to do, isn't it? I swore I would whip you into shape. Did I lie?"

"No, M'lady," she nervously responded, her eyes looking anywhere but at the cold, green ones of the Duchess.

"Maria, of all people, remembered," she thoughtfully added. "She wants to get rid of you, I think."

"M'lady, I have done no-" she began.

"Oh? I was under the impression that you insulted her this morning," she quickly countered, a wicked smile curling her lips.

Emma remained silent, her eyes fixed on the ground. She was nervous. Her life depended on the Duchess. She had never been paid as a servant, nor did she have any alternate source of income, which might enable her to pay her way for more than two days. All she had was her mother's simple things, the two remaining nuts, the hunter's costume…and the ring.

"Did you hear me, Emma?"

Startled, her head whipped up. She had been so lost in thoughts that she had completely missed her stepmother's question.

"I'm sorry, I am inattentive…"

"Yes, I had noticed. I asked whether or not you were out this afternoon."

"N-no, M'lady," Emma responded, in the quality of a startled rabbit.

"Don't lie to me!" she snarled.

"I went out briefly…only to wash Maria's things. That's all," she lied through her teeth.

"I don't care. See that you do not do it again. But this is not why I called you, Emma," she began.

"Oh?"

"I have a far more serious thing to ask you. I am not a slave driver, nor am I an unfair person. Now that you have reached your sixteenth year, I will offer you a choice: you may remain in this household as my servant. My _paid_ servant. Or, you may leave and seek out a new position elsewhere. I am indifferent to either decision."

Emma stared, her mouth open. She was free?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dominic rode home, frustrated and upset. He had been bested at the hunt, which was his great talent. Then, the conqueror had disappeared, and he was made to look foolish by the little peasant girl who promptly disappeared. He was beginning to believe that the girl was a demonic imp, sent to torment him. Still, there were worse things than being insulted by a little peasant girl…

For instance, his present destination. He had received an urgent message from his father, just as he was about to set out in quest of the mysterious hunter again. He had long since given up trying to fight his father's decrees, so he now found himself riding towards the almost certain doom of some new grand idea that his father was going to use to turn him into a respectable prince.

The horse sped on, its hoofs beating against the ground viciously. Dominic again shook his head in amazement, wondering how the little girl had avoided being tossed from the horse's back and to her death. His speculations were again interrupted by the appearance of the castle over the horizon. The turrets stood against the sky, almost as if they were proud of the jagged lines they made against the blue-and-white heavens.

"That wouldn't be surprising," Dominic thought to himself. "My family loves asserting its power over everything and everybody…"

"Your Highness!" a groom yelped in surprise as the prince's horse trotted into the stables.

"Yes?" Dominic smoothly enquired, sliding down from the horse's back and adjusting the fur mantle around his shoulders.

"H-his Majesty requests an audience with you," the poor boy stammered.

"So I was told. Where is he?" he lazily drawled.

"In the throne room, Sire," the boy replied.

"Thanks," he casually remarked, leaving the boy to pat down and stable his horse. The groom could not have been happier, for the prince and his alternating moods puzzled and frightened him.

A/N: I am deeply and truly sorry for the long time between this chapter and the last, as well as the length of this particular segment. I have had prom, graduation and a slew of other business to take care of between then and now, not to mention my new job at the movie theatre! I am so grateful to my reviewers! You alone have kept me from abandoning this story and I will certainly finish it! The next chapter will be up soon.

-Titania


	7. A Tisket, A Tasket, A Mixed Up Basket

"Ah, if it isn't my tardy son!" the King exclaimed, as Dominic strolled into the throne room, trailing mud, leaves, and snow.

"Sire," Dominic replied, mockingly bowing in his direction, without meeting his eyes. "I was told you wished to speak with me."

"Yes, boy. I wish to continue a subject begun by your mother," he answered. Dominic shuddered slightly and turned his head away.

"The Lady Theresa?" he muttered wearily.

"Nonsense!" the King boomed. "As if I would take such a pretentious monster into my home. No, not Theresa, but a similar venue of thought, certainly."

"Marriage?" Dominic practically wailed.

"Yes, boy, marriage. I will see you wed before the month ends, mark my words."

"I have no woman who will call me husband."

"Every woman in the kingdom wishes to look upon and look after the mysterious prince of the realm," the King said, inspecting his fingernails.

Dominic was not appreciating the direction this conversation was taking. Visions of be-jeweled and velvet-swathed women swam in his head, and he attempted to steady himself by grabbing at a column.

"Come, come, Dominic! It needn't be so bad!" the King smirked. "Now we may come to the crux of the matter. I will be holding a ball in your honour tomorrow night. You will be introduced to all the eligible ladies in this land and those of other countries. Quite a selection, so I should hope you will make a good choice."

"Father, all women are mad creatures, and any who would come to this ball are pretentious and power-hungry, as well!" he replied, almost nervously.

"I see. Well, that will reveal itself tomorrow. I daresay if you dislike it that much, I will give you full permission to make yourself scarce," the King said, with a smirk.

"I thank you, Father."

The interview was over. Now the preparations and the waiting were to begin. As Dominic ascended the stairs to his apartments, he felt dizzy with the premature sensations of ladies' perfumes.

"As if a woman might ever interest me!" he exclaimed to himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I am free to go?" Emma replied, yet again.

"Did I not just say that?" the Duchess growled.

"I… May I consider this?"

"If you are to be indecisive, I will make up your mind for you and throw you into the streets this very instant," the Duchess proclaimed, exasperated.

"I only wish to consider my options, My Lady."

"Consider quickly."

Emma thought about this last part. Something was pushing the Duchess to get rid of her quickly. Something was very wrong, else the cruel woman would never wish to relent her grip on her.

"I will stay, My Lady," Emma finally whispered, with a mild quaver in her voice.

"I see…"

This news did not seem at all pleasant to the Duchess. Just as she was about to open her mouth, a figure in frills and frou-frou burst through the door and pranced into their midst.

"Maria!" the Duchess called to the waltzing figure.

"Oh, Mother, but he is so handsome!" Maria declared.

Emma knew just who he was, and, despite her firmest wishes, could not help agreeing.

"Emma!"

Maria turned towards her and began to walk in her direction.

"Emma, I am going to a ball tomorrow night!" Maria giggled, just as the Duchess whispered, "Hist!"

"Yes, I am," Maria continued. "Just look at this invitation!" She held out the gilded parchment to Emma, who read, quite clearly,

_The Ladies of the House de Winter Are Cordially Invited to Attend A Ball in Honour of His Highness, the Prince Dominic and Heir Apparent_

"But I am also a lady of the house de Winter," Emma began.

"What sort of lady are you?" Maria screeched, immediately. "You run about with your rags and your soot, befriending every filthy creature on earth, for decent people know well enough to keep away from you."

"That is enough, Maria."

The insults would have continued, but for this interruption. Emma wondered why the Duchess had intervened, for she always seemed to take great pleasure in the insults doled out by Maria to the lowly girl.

"Emma, do you truly wish to attend this ball?" the Duchess queried.

"Oh, I should like that very much," she half-murmured in reply. Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew she should not have said it.

"Perhaps that can be arranged. Ah!" she spoke to silence Maria's protests. "Bring me two baskets from the kitchen, Emma."

Her voice was laced with honey and Emma sensed the threat, but it was too late to go back on her words now.

"Baskets?"

"Yes, girl. Fill one to the brim with corn seed, the other with dry peas."

When Emma returned, the Duchess took both baskets in hand and spilled first one, then the other onto the floor. As she mixed the seeds with her foot, she glared at Emma and spoke scathingly.

"I want these sorted back into the two baskets by dawn. If I find a single grain out of place you will be given five lashes. Clearly, your everyday chores do not occupy you fully enough."

Emma stared in disbelief at the pile on the floor. This would take days to do, even if she did not have to do her other chores.

"What now?" she thought as she gathered the grains into the basket, in order to take them to her little closet of a room. "What now?"

A/N: Whoo! Another chapter! I really like this, even though it is transition, if only for the things it starts to reveal. I am so pleased to read your lovely reviews and very grateful to those who have offered their excellent criticism. I have tried to work on character development. Hopefully, there is more than just plot here! I will work on the next chapter immediately and, coming up, the last part of the riddle!

-Titania


	8. Dangerous Liaisons

"_Shall I ask you the third part of the riddle?" she whispered, brushing her lips against the Prince's ear._

"_Please!" his voice rang out, half-desperate._

"_Very well. Who is swathed in yards of gorgeous silks and velvets, draped in priceless jewels, and rides upon a snow-white horse with an embroidered saddle, but is no princess?"_

_The Prince sighed dejectedly, but continued to appear as though he was thinking, thoughts racing through his head of what answer she expected._

"_You do not know?" her lilting tones inquired._

"_I… I confess myself puzzled," he sighed._

"_That is a shame. Then…"_

Emma trudged to her little room, carrying a full basket in one hand, an empty one in the other. She glared at the little grains. One thought kept wrapping itself around her mind. The Duchess did not want her at this ball. Then she must go. Clearly, there was something behind all of this.

"I must go," she whispered to herself. "Somehow… I must go!"

Lost in her thoughts, she missed a step and tripped at the raised doorjamb at the threshold of her room.

"No! No, oh…" Frustrated, she got to her hands and knees to pick up the little grains again. A minute into the work, she threw her hands up and fell back as tears fell freely down her cheeks.

Now, Emma rarely cried. She hated to feel sorry for herself. Life had made her tough; she understood the futility of tears. Yet, she could not help giving in to them this time. Circumstances were certainly not going to get better.

As she wept, she heard a flutter, as of wings, and opened her now-swollen eyes to peer at a large crowd of doves that had flown in through the little window and were now pecking at the grains on the floor.

Dazed, she stared at them, for she realized what they were doing: her very assignment!

"Th-thank you?" she stammered.

The birds merely cooed in response, continuing with their work.

A light giggle escaped her, as she saw the ridiculous nature of her situation. Yet there was something, nonetheless, that she found pleasant and comforting in all of this.

Taking her cue, she rose from the floor and left the Servants' Quarters to continue her chores, only looking back once at the clearly Heaven-sent birds.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"My Lady, I have done as you asked."

Emma stood before the Duchess, a basket in each hand, the grains carefully and perfectly sorted. The Duchess regarded her with malice and shook out the switch she had been holding in preparation for a good beating.

"Who helped you?" she finally demanded, after carefully inspecting the contents of each basket.

"Heavenly agents only, my Lady."

"Do not play dumb with me, girl!" she barked, smacking the switch against Emma's wrist. At her cry of pain, she calmed down and took the two baskets away.

Emma cradled her arm and tried to stem the flow of blood that had already begun from the open cut.

The Duchess's eyes were filled with complete loathing but, somewhere behind the hatred, there was a sense of fear. It was this fear that now drove the Duchess to commit her terrible act.

"I told you that for each misplaced grain, you would receive a lash," she calmly stated, looking at the baskets, which she had placed on a table.

"There is not a grain out of place, my Lady," Emma spoke, confidently. She herself had inspected the bird-sorted grains. Not one had been out of place, cracked, or even dirtied, despite its many spills onto the floor.

"Do not lie to me, Emma."

Her voice was malice itself, coated in a vile honey.

"My Lady, I assure you, I…" Emma trailed off, staring in horror as the Duchess daintily took a handful of the peas and poured them into the basket with the corn.

All this had been down without looking away from Emma. Now, she looked down at the newly-spoilt basket and began to count out the peas she herself had spilled.

Emma's heart beat quickly and she wondered what could save her now from this monstrosity. Her first instinct was to run. But if she ran now, she would be forced to leave everything. Her bracelet, her beloved horse, her remaining nuts. She must stay, despite her certain fate at this moment. There was something more to all of this.

"…14, 15, and 16," the Duchess finally intoned, interrupting this internal conversation.

She bade Emma to get on her knees, as she raised the switch.

"I did warn you, dear," she said with a cruel smile. "What are you now, if little better than a slave?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The very walls of the house seemed to resound with Emma's shrieks of pain.

"Vincent, but what did she do?" Henry demanded of his fellow-servant, halfway through this thrashing.

"I've no idea," Vincent honestly replied, shivering as yet another wail struck their ears.

"Emms never cries. Or screams like that."

"Perhaps she has never been whipped like that," Vincent gloomily responded.

A moment paused, in which the switch fell for the twelfth time upon Emma's back, striking in the very place that had just been sliced open. Her screams were mingled with pleading, this time.

"I can't take this anymore!" Henry exclaimed, covering his ears with his broad palms and shutting his eyes tightly. Vincent could only stare at the floor. For, truly, what had Emma done?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"We're off for the ball!" a gay voice echoed through the hall. Many of the servants were lined up in the foyer to gaze upon their mistress in her court fineries. One of the servants, however, was prostrate upon her bed, half-conscious and delirious with pain.

"I must go to this ball," she murmured softly to Vincent, who sat next to her bed on a stool and watched her chest rising and falling with her uneven breathing.

"Are you mad? In this condition? Perhaps you are delirious. I will fetch some brandy and—"

"I am not delirious, Vincent," she replied, agitated. "Don't you understand? There must be something very special about this ball. Some reason as to why the Duchess does not want me to attend it."

"Emma, I will be back right away. I am going to fetch something for the pain. Don't you dare move from that spot!" he commanded, stepping out of the room.

Emma, however, had every reason not to listen to him. There was something about this ball, and she must go.

She moaned softly as she rose from the bed, and she carefully padded from the room to her little secret cabin. Inside, she took out the remaining nuts and tore one from its stem.

Shuddering in the cold, she threw it behind her back and turned around to find the most incredible ball gown folded neatly on the floor. It was the pale pink of sunrise, and embroidered throughout with diamonds. She picked it up and held the smooth material to her cheeks, wondering at her good fortune in receiving these amazing nuts.

She dressed carefully, wincing often, but, once dressed, it was as if her pain had been dulled. Tonight, she would be a princess, even if in the morning she had been a servant, beaten to within an inch of her life and left gasping for breath, alone, afterwards.

As she descended from the little cabin, she was occupied in fixing the clasp on her mother's bracelet. She looked up from her work at the sound of a whinny, to discover Snowflake standing before her, saddled with a velvet cushion, as if to make the journey easier for her.

"But who saddled you, Snowflake?" she asked.

The horse only whinnied again, and shook its mane out, as if declining to answer.

Emma's smile broadened.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Dominic, do try to look somewhat happy!" the Queen was begging her son.

"Why? I am not happy, so I need not display an emotion I do not feel," he replied sulkily. Just at that moment, a whir of deep blue fabric announced the presence of Maria, who caught the Prince's eye, if only for a moment. She was, truth be told, quite breathtaking.

The King smiled to see his son straighten in his seat, and the Queen silenced her complaints.

Dominic rose from the throne he had been sitting upon and walked towards the beautiful girl.

"Shall we dance, milady?" he asked in a reserved tone.

"Why, of course!" she answered, showing her teeth and giggling madly.

During the course of the dance, Dominic came to understand his mistake, as Maria chatted about a great deal of nothing and insinuated the possibility of her marriage to him.

"My dear lady!" he finally demanded. She silenced her prattle to listen to him. They had stopped dancing.

"Your Highness?"

"I have never met a person who has spoken quite as much nonsense as you have, this night. I will tell you, quite honestly, that I find you ridiculous and want nothing more to do with you." The entire hall grew silent; even the musicians silenced their instruments. "Not with you, not with anybody. Good-night!"

With those words, he began to walk towards the door at a very hurried pace.

"Stop him, Geoffrey!" the Queen whispered into the King's ear. She need not have wasted her breath.

Just as he was about to pass out of the doors, a musical voice rang out in the silence.

"Are you leaving, Your Highness?"

"Yes," he said coldly. "I bid you good-night."

"But I have yet to dance with you," the voice called.

Curious, the Prince walked over to the source and discovered it to be a woman dressed in the finest of gowns, sparkling from every angle with diamonds, yet with her face hidden behind a pale pink veil, which hid her features.

This last intrigued him.

"Milady, may I have this dance?"

"I thought you were leaving," she replied playfully.

"Perhaps I have changed my mind."

"Well, then, yes. Only…"

"Yes?"

"There is no music, Your Highness." She sounded amused.

"Ah, true. Please, musicians, play on!"

As Dominic took her by the hand, he felt it shake like a leaf under his touch, and he heard her wince.

"Have I hurt you, milady?"

"No, sire. I had a small accident this morning. Nothing serious."

"Then I must make you forget about your pain," he stated with a smile.

How fickle these men are! A mask may intrigue them where a beautiful face bores them. Certainly, the mask drew Dominic's interest. But it was the mysterious girl's manners and speech that kept it fixed upon her. But he was not the only one paying attention.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Queen could not have been more jubilant.

"Our son! Just think! Our Dominic has found someone he likes!"

"Why does she wear a mask?" the King queried, with a frown.

"Oh, I don't know," the Queen said dismissively, as if it did not matter in the least, so long as the Prince had found someone he liked. Snippets of the pair's conversation could be heard as they danced past.

"…priceless jewels, and rides upon a snow-white horse with an embroidered saddle, but is no princess?"

A pause.

"You do now know?"

"I… I confess myself puzzled," he sighed.

"That is a shame. Then, I must leave you."

And with those words, she took off towards the door.

As she ran, the crowd seemed to part before her. It took a moment for the Prince to collect himself and respond to this sudden outburst. Now, he ran forward, ready to catch her again.

As he dashed towards the door, however, he saw that his princess was still standing there, her wrist held fast by a handsome, elegantly dressed stranger.

"Emma," Dominic heard him whisper, as he drew near. "Emma de Winter. At last!"

A/N: Well, if that isn't a shocking surprise! Ooo, now there really is a cliffhanger, for it seems we have gone off the beaten track of Cinderella entirely. Keep reading, keep reviewing, I will update soon. This story will be finished before the end of August, I assure you. Please let me know what you think. It only takes a second of your time, and it means the world to me.

I am glad everyone has liked it so far. By the way, the task with the grain is a pretty common one to be set in fairy tales of many nations, including France, Italy, and the Slavic nations (where I hail from). It's a really sadistic, pointless sort of punishment, so it is often used in fairy tales that have a character of this sort.

Much love to all!

-Titania


	9. The Stranger and the Return

Emma did not know what to think of this man's behaviour. Furthermore, she did not know how he recognized her. She still had the veil on her face!

That was to be a short-lived thing, however, as she felt a hand from behind snatch it off, as a voice screeched "Emma!"

This voice belonged to none other than her step-mother.

"You vile creature, where did you get this dress and how did you get here!" she proceeded to shout.

Emma shrank back, having developed a renewed sensitivity to the wounds she had received this morning. The cut on her wrist was particularly aggravated, especially since the man still had a vice-like grip on it. Its strength increased with each insult.

"My Lady, I…" she began to simper. She had no other way out of her current situation.

The man seemed to feel particularly indignant about this.

"My Lady? Why do you call her that? Emma!" He shook her by the wrist he was holding and she winced.

Prince Dominic started forward at this. "Can't you see she is in pain?"

Nobody heard his exclamation, however, as the Duchess had started off with her vituperations again.

"You wretched girl, I knew I should have thrashed you harder!" (The Prince shook slightly at these words.) she yelled. "And as for you…" she began, casting her eyes towards the man.

"What would you have of me, murderess?" he replied, calmly, but with a glint of malice in his eye.

The entire crowd hushed at this word. Emma, who had been the nearest to fainting she would ever be, collected herself and made a dash for the door. Her hand slipped out of the stranger's grip, though her bracelet was lost in his hands. She made a mad dash for the door (not easy to do in elaborate shoes and an even more elaborate gown). The combined shock of the stranger's accusation and her flight was enough to give her the few seconds' advantage she needed.

She would consider this night's events later. All she knew now was that she must flee.

She mounted Snowflake and he tore off at her command. She did not know where she was going to go. She only knew that she must escape. This was wrong, all of it. She was wrong to have come here tonight. More than anything, she had been wrong to stay with the Duchess. Now, certainly, her very life was in danger for such insubordination…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dominic was again too shocked to react to the Princess's flight instantly. The stranger fulminated quietly as he saw her run off.

"I'll go after her," Dominic volunteered, his eyes ablaze. So many things were wrong. He needed to know why and how.

"Don't bother," the stranger stated, in his maddeningly calm tones.

"But, she.."

"Do you even know who she is?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Exactly. How are you going to follow her if you don't know where she is going?"

"I…"

At this point, the King interrupted.

"I have had quite enough of this! I demand to know who this man is and why he accuses the honourable Duchess of Westbourne of murder!"

The court turned to the handsome young man who gave an eloquent bow.

"I am Frederick de Winter, son of Edward de Winter. I accuse the Duchess of Westbourne of conspiring against the life of my uncle, Lord Maximilian de Winter."

This statement was completely unexpected, and all eyes turned to the Duchess, who paled conceivably. She recovered herself quickly, but not quickly enough to escape the notice of the crowd. One word rang clear as she turned her eyes scathingly to the man who would prove her destruction.

"Murderer!"

This was met with a chorus of like statements, and many stepped away from the Duchess, spitting at her feet. The faint tinge of guilt had marred her face enough for people to believe the words of this young stranger.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Emma, meanwhile, had no idea that any of this was happening. She did not know that the handsome man was her cousin, nor did she know what the Duchess was enduring at that moment. She was aware only of the cold and the pain. The gown's enchantment seemed to have worn off and now every jolt she felt as Snowflake beat the ground with his hoofs was pure pain.

She felt as though she might slip from the back of her horse, when he stopped, quite suddenly, after hours of riding in a random direction. At least, Emma had thought it to be random, for she was not guiding Snowflake at all.

As she dismounted, she looked up to behold her childhood home and the last place she had ever truly felt at home.

A/N: I hope that satisfies everybody for now. Trust me, it is definitely not over yet! There is so much more left to be revealed, discovered, etc. etc.

Many thanks to all of my reviewers. I hope this meets your expectations!

-Titania


	10. The Book of Revelations

Emma trudged up towards the gates of her father's castle. Snowflake followed, close behind, as if ready to catch up his half-conscious mistress. Her only thought was to get to the castle. From there, she would let events unfold as they may.

As she reached the front door, she raised a hand to the large bronze knocker. As she pulled it down once, twice, her hand slipped from it. The combination of everything that had happened settled around her, and she lost consciousness, just as the old housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, reached the door to pull it open.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As the crowd continued to shout at the Duchess, Dominic was getting ready to set off after his fairytale princess of the mysterious riddles.

The man called Frederick de Winter watched as he went to get a cloak, among other accoutrements, in preparation for the ride. Just as he was about to go out the door, he turned to him.

"You know who that princess was?"

Frederick gave a strange smile.

"She's hardly a princess."

"Then who is she?"

"Don't you think that if she had wanted you to know that, she would have told you herself?"

"She didn't want me to know anything," Dominic growled, almost to himself.

Frederick had heard.

"Perhaps, then, there was a reason for that."

"I—"

"Yes, I understand that you are indignant. However, I feel that if you are to go somewhere, you must know where you are going."

"Do you always treat your sovereigns this way?" Dominic retorted. He was getting tired of this man's habits.

"Only when I know something they do not," Frederick stated simply, again smiling.

"And what is it that you know?"

"She will be at her father's castle. I assure you, that is where she is to be found."

With these words, he gathered up his own things and started for the door.

"What, and you are just going to leave like this, after having made such a terrible accusation against a well-known woman?" Dominic accosted him.

"My concern no longer lies with that lying viper. I must see to my bride," he paused long enough to say.

At this point, Dominic did not know what to think. The surprises simply continued.

"W-wait!" he called, catching up to him and touching him on the shoulder.

"Yes?" he queried, not bothering to slow down or turn around.

"She is your bride?"

"Oh, yes. We have been engaged for quite some time, indeed. More than three years, I should say. Now, by your leave, Your Highness, I really must go. As you yourself saw, she was in no condition to ride, and the roads are a mess," he finished, with an exaggerated bow.

"I will come with you," Dominic stated.

"Your Highness—"

"No! Your Prince demands it. You must grant it to him," he interrupted.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he said, with a resigned sigh. "I go to find my bride and the love of my life…"

"She is not only the love of your life," Dominic said.

Frederick did turn around at this point and stopped in his tracks.

"Are you in love with her, Your Highness?" he asked, his tones truly hurt. Who could compete with a Prince?

"I am."

"Then, perhaps we should let Lady Emma decide?"

"Yes." A pause. "Her name is Emma?"

"Yes, Your Highness, Emma de Winter."

"Very well. Let us set off, then. I will send for my guard after we have reached this castle."

"Yes, Your Highness," Frederick said dully. The light had gone out of his eyes and he no longer seemed so self-assured. Emma was surely out of his reach.

The yells in the ballroom had subsided somewhat as they departed, riding in the direction of Snowflake's route.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When Emma awoke, she found herself warm and in a soft bed.

"Mistress Emma!" a hearty voice exclaimed, as she blinked a few times to get used to the sunlight pouring in through the window.

Wait. Sunlight? Through a window? But her room had no window…

She sat up in the bed, throwing the layers of blankets off, trying to understand her surroundings. Suddenly, she remembered the night before, her wonderful dance with the Prince, and the shocking events that unfolded as she attempted to flee. Was the Duchess truly a murderess? She knew her to be wicked and heartless, but to stoop so low… And who would she have murdered, anyway?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the owner of the hearty voice, Mrs. Williams, who was rushing over with more blankets. Clearly, she wanted to see Emma floundering in fathoms of these before she would be satisfied.

Emma recognized the warm face immediately.

"Mrs. Williams!"

"Yes, Mistress Emma? Oh, do lie down! Doctor's orders, I must say."

"No, no! Mrs. Williams, I am in terrible trouble. I must go, I must hide, I must---Ahh!"

"Nasty wounds, aren't they?" Mrs. Williams glowered at nobody. "That terrible woman. I always knew she had it in her. I tried to warn the master, but it was never truly his choice, anyway."

Emma was truly confused now.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why, this news of the Duchess having poisoned his Lordship."

"WHAT!"

Mrs. Williams looked away, as if to avoid the shocked glance.

"They say she conspired for his money. He had never made a proper will, so all of it would have gone to her. And she was poor to boot, when he married her. Nobody knew that."

"My pet, if we had known, if we had only known…"

"But how do we know now?" Emma asked, her eyes, still wide from the revelation.

"Your cousin, Master Frederick."

"Who?"

"Why, your uncle Edward's son."

"That terrible boy who always pulled at my hair and shot at innocent birds for fun?"

Mrs. Williams allowed herself a fond smile.

"Boys will be boys…"

"But, I still don't understand," Emma said, interrupting the brief reverie. "How did he know? And why did he choose to reveal it now?"

"I had no choice," a tenor voice spoke.

She looked up at the door to see the handsome man from the night before. Yes, somewhere deep inside his eyes, she recognized the chubby boy who had insisted that his cousin was not worthy enough to play with him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You asked why I chose to reveal it now."

"I did."

"My travels were at an end. I had returned to England, only to find my cousin's life in shambles, perhaps even ended, while the Duchess grew fat on my uncle's monies and properties..." He clenched his fists. "I never knew she would go through with it."

"With what?"

"Murdering your father, of course!"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Don't you see? She had decided he was to die from the day their engagement was settled. She even offered me a part in the murder, knowing that I would inherit little money, thinking to tempt me with part of the prize. She was drunk when she made that offer, but she remembered enough of her conversation to threaten me on the next day. I left that afternoon, fearing for my own life, never daring to think that my beloved uncle's was in danger."

Emma was in a rage now.

"You as good as killed him!" she screamed, throwing aside the blankets so she could get near him and tear anything she could from him. "You knew she planned to, yet you said nothing! You fled, fearing for your own skin!"

As she ran at him, he grabbed her arms and kept her at a fair distance.

"I did what I believed myself capable of doing. Emma! Listen to me!"

She stopped struggling, if only because she wanted him to loosen his grip.

"Who would have believed me? Think about it! I was a boy of 16. I had no reputation, no credibility. To say that an honourable Duchess, in an intoxicated state, had offered me a part in such an infamous murder would be to hang myself on the spot. As for staying, I have no doubt now I would have died mysteriously very quickly."

"But why now?"

"Because the news of your father's death, and yours, has reached me only now."

"Mine?" she gasped.

"Yes. Nobody knew what had become of you. The popular theory was that you had died of grief."

Emma's rage had settled, to be replaced by grief. She began to sob quietly, hiding her face in her hands, not wishing for anybody to see her in this state of weakness.

"I am to blame, Emma, I know it. That thought will haunt me until the day I die."

"Oh, Freddy," she moaned, using a nickname from childhood, "but how can it be true?"

"I am sorry to say that it is."

"There is no proof."

"There is plenty of proof, Emma. What did they tell you when your father died?"

"A disease. A strange disease took him."

"No, Emma. They knew it was poison. A slow-acting poison. The physician has provided the records. They did not know who had poured it, that is all."

"She will never confess." She was no longer sobbing, but tears continued to fall.

"She already has. She will be hanged summarily, Emma. Somebody had to accuse her and provide sufficient evidence."

"What evidence?"

"An unsigned letter, written to an apothecary, in her hand, asking for a slow poison which acts as an agent of disease. She fainted clear away when she saw it and later confessed to writing it. That apothecary had died shortly after your father did."

"But I don't understand how you got such a letter…"

"I spent the last three months tracking it down. I knew that there had to be some proof, else I would seem a fool."

"Last night…?"

"The King's ball was perfect. She could be caught off-guard, and seen by half the kingdom at once."

"But… you knew me…"

"I knew your gown."

"What?"

"The gown you were wearing was the greatest pride of your mother, or so my father loved to tell me when he showed me her portrait. You looked so like her last night in that gown. Wherever did you get it?"

"I—" Her source was indeed strange.

"Never mind. There are more important things to attend to. First and foremost, your health. I must see to it that you are better before the wedding."

Just when she thought that nothing could surprise her anymore, something did.

"Wedding?"

"Yes, Emma. I must admit, it is unfair of me to thrust such a choice upon you at such a time, but, in all honesty, I am not nearly as eager to hear your decision as he is."

"Who is 'he'?"

"Your Highness, I beg an audience with you!" Frederick called at the door.

Emma fell back in shock as the Prince, that same prince she had danced with and teased last night, stepped into the room, looking extremely sheepish, his fine clothes soiled with a night's difficult journey.

Frederick smiled, but in a strained manner, as he bowed briefly to Prince Dominic. He then turned to Emma. "Again, I apologise for the unexpected decision you must make, but… which of us would you have as husband?"

A/N: Well, when it rains, it pours. And it is pouring out of me right now. I feel as though I have to let all of you know what happens next. Then and only then will I sleep soundly.

I am so grateful to all of my reviewers. Just to know that you are not only reading, but taking the time to let me know what you think, means more than I can say.

To Saffie: I agree with you, it was too easy. I guess I was thinking of how quickly mob mentality can build. I am sure, too, that the Duchess did not have a lot of friends in that crowd and most of them would be only too happy to see her hang for murder. As for Frederick's persuasion, there is more to that than it seems.

To InChrist: I have escaped the wrath of Cadmus-Aedan, I hope! Certainly, this was as quickly written as possible, considering all of the packing I am doing for University!

To LauraShrub: So pleased to know you were happy with this chapter. Maybe you will like this one even more!

To ObsessiveCompulsive: Yes, Frederick is quite a character. In fact, he doesn't even belong in a Cinderella story, I should think. He took a wrong turn somewhere at "The Juniper Tree" and totally missed the sign for "The Snow Queen"… Hehe..

As always, I give you my love and await your many wonderful reviews!

-Titania


	11. Once Decided

"I… What!"

Her incredulity was clearly written across her face, and she felt she might go mad if she was to hear anything more.

"I'm sorry, milady," the Prince intoned, "But I feel I must know which of us you would have as husband."

"Why must you know now?"

"Well, this gentleman," he gestured at Frederick," claims that you are betrothed."

"Yes," Frederick replied. "We have been, for nigh upon three years now. I have the documents, drawn up by Emma's father, the honourable Lord Maximilian de Winter."

Emma fell back in the bed. Of all the things she had been expecting, this was the last.

"Oh, do leave the poor girl in peace!" Mrs. Williams scolded, bustling into the room like a mother hen.

Emma was grateful for this intrusion, which gave her time to think.

Of course they wanted to know. Technically, she was engaged to Frederick, but her prince would obviously hold greater power in that regard. So, they had given her a choice.

"It was rather considerate of them to do that."

"Do what, dearie?"

"Let me choose my future husband."

"Is that what they want from you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Williams. Just that."

"Not a very promising start for a marriage, is it?"

"What?"

"Well, I have heard some things about Master Frederick, and about his Highness, as well."

"'Things', Mrs. Williams?"

"Nothing terrible, but, I don't see why either of them deserve you!"

"And I don't know why either of them want me!" Emma exclaimed. She was exasperated. She felt like a useless invalid and she barely knew either man. Now they were forcing her to choose whom she would spend the rest of her life with?

"Mrs. Williams, what would you do?"

"Me? Why, I would make them wait for my answer, get to know both of them better, perhaps."

"They won't wait, I don't think."

"Then they can't truly love you, dearie. If a man loves you, he will do whatever is necessary to win your heart in return."

A long pause followed that statement. No, in truth, how could either of them love her? Even if Frederick had returned to right his wrongs, it did not mean that he had always been there for her, in her darkest hour with the Duchess. As for the Prince…

Her memories flew back to earlier days, when she had taunted an overdressed royal and his friends. She remembered also the insults he had flung at her upon that occasion.

How could Prince Dominic love her? He did not know the cinder-covered girl from the huntsman from the princess. And Emma was not truly any of these. She was simply… herself. Would he be willing to accept her in that way as his wife, or did he favour only the princess he had danced with at the ball?

Emma turned over these thoughts in her head all day. When Mrs. Williams demanded that she should rest, she closed her eyes and lay upon the soft pillow, but continued to ponder her choices.

As the sun was setting and it golden glow settled over her chamber, she sat up and got out of bed. Mrs. Williams, who was asleep in a chair by the bed, woke up at the sound.

"Dearie, what are you doing up?"

"I wish to dress for dinner, Mrs. Williams."

"But you…"

"I must inform the gentlemen of my decision."

"Already?" Even Mrs. Williams was incredulous.

"Yes. In the end, I know what I must do."

"But what is it you want to do?''

"That will remain forever a mystery, even to me."

She dressed in a simple gown, which was made of a lovely muslin. The soft fibers almost cushioned her wounds, and she smiled, thinking of the contrast between this and the scratchy fabrics she had worn as a servant.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dominic sat at one end of the table, while Frederick sat at the other. As dinner was being served, the two rivals glared at each other over their plates. They were both vying for the same prize and each had an advantage over the other.

Suddenly, a vision in green walked through the door, silently.

"Emma!" Frederick exclaimed.

"Good sir." She curtsied, then turned to Dominic. "Your Highness."

She stood straight, then, and addressed both of them.

"I thank you for the opportunity to choose which you have offered me. However, I know that there is only one true choice in the end. And so, I have made up my mind to do what is right."

Both held their breaths.

"Frederick, according to the contract, it was my father's wish to see me wed to you. So it must be. I will honour his wish."

A/N: Ooooo, what happens now? I meant what I said about it being far from over, though, so don't think that this is the end. There is so much more that will happen. After all, despite all of the twists and turns, this is still a Cinderella story.

Swatter: I am so pleased that you like my story. Hope this update is soon enough for you!

LauraShrub: I agree, it might have been longer, but, then again, that search might come later. Like I've said before, this is far from over. Some of the facets have been twisted around to suit the new situation.

InChrist: Thanks for the grammar correction! I write these mostly after work, when I am half-dead and not at all in any condition to do anything but pour out my thoughts. Glad to see somebody is paying attention! I understand your concern about the cousin thing, but for me, it's not that strange. I have one male cousin and I see him once every four years or so, and only for a few days. It's almost like he is just an acquaintance. I guess that is why it isn't so strange for me to think of that. And, as you said, it wasn't considered strange at all in those days. My best to Cadmus-Aedan. Hope these daily updates suit his appetite!

ObsessiveCompulsive: I'm glad you like the character. He really is something else, I think.

Saffie: Hopefully, this chapter addressed some of your questions. It wasn't really either of their plans, but something parents schemed up. They have a tendency to do that, sometimes… As for the rest of your questions… you'll have to see!

My love to you all! You won't have to wait long for the next chapter, especially if you review!

-Titania


	12. Twice Deceived

Dominic was positively aghast.

"Emma! What do you know of him that convinces you he is the right choice?"

"Your Highness, until this morning, most likely, you did not even know I was called Emma. Furthermore, my father loved me. He would never make a bad decision for me…"

Frederick was smiling his serene smile.

"Emma, my dear, you have made the right choice. Have faith in me to arrange the details of the wedding."

Emma curtsied again and turned to go.

"You will not have dinner?" Frederick asked her sore retreating back.

"Gentlemen, I am ill and tired," she replied, remembering her best court manners. By the age of twelve she had mastered them. Now it was only a matter of recalling them.

After she left the room, Dominic rose from his seat.

"I-I intend to leave tonight."

"As it would please your highness," Frederick answered, not looking at the other man. His attention was on the door through which Emma had left.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Emma saw little of her fiancé in the next month. He was often gone, making some plans or others for their wedding. The only part she was certain of about that was that she was to marry Frederick.

In that time, she recovered, fairly quickly, and was soon preparing the household for a new master. She chose to stay at her father's residence, for the Duchess's house brought terrible memories. She did, however, wish to retrieve her property from the house, namely, the remaining nut. After what Frederick had told her about her mother's dress, she knew that this was not haphazard magic. Something was truly special about this.

On the day she was to return, she saddled Snowflake and left, without so much as an escort. All those years of escaping the eye of the Duchess seemed to have imprinted her with a need to escape detection.

As she rode up to the mansion, she saw that it was in terrible disarray. Most of the servants had abandoned the house, leaving Maria to care for it, for the most part, on her own. Some of the maids had remained, if only to take care of what little remained and keep Maria from going completely mad. Of the men, only Vincent and Henry had stayed, still hoping to learn what had become of Emma.

She was met at the gate by Vincent, who was trying to puzzle out who this fine lady was.

"Vincent!" the fine lady exclaimed, jumping down from the horse and running into his arms. Those arms had comforted her so often in terrible times.

"Wh-Emma?"

"Yes, it's me."

"But… I don't understand."

Emma explained the whole story as they walked through the foyer and to the Servants' Quarters, where her trifles were to be found.

"So, it was your father that she killed?"

"Her husband, yes."

"They have proved this?"

"She herself confessed."

Vincent scoffed.

"What?" Emma suddenly bristled.

"As if a confession is proof. Torture is still used in these parts, you know."

"I highly doubt they would torture a duchess!" she exclaimed. Vincent was silent. Somehow, her recent elevation in society had rendered her slightly less sensitive to the feelings of those below her in rank.

Vincent sighed and looked around the stone hall.

"Do you receive all of this?"

"Technically, yes. It is meant to be compensation for the years of servitude she drove me into."

"The courts decided this?"

"Vincent, you ask too many questions!"

"Could you answer it, please?"

"It was Frederick's idea," she said, after a thoughtful pause. "But I declined it."

"Oh?"

"I am taking only what my father would have endowed her with. All of her original lands and money, I am bequeathing to Maria."

"That is kind of you."

"She deserves something. The fault is not truly hers."

"She plans to leave the city and find a house in the country."

"Yes, her funds are limited."

"I thought you said you were going to return her money?" Vincent cocked his head.

"There was not very much to begin with," Emma sighed. "That is why she married father. For the money."

"And what about this Frederick?" Vincent finally asked.

"Yeah, wha' abou' this Frederick?" a cheerful voice echoed, as Emma turned to see Henry walking towards her.

"Henry!" She ran to meet him and he grinned broadly. Once clean, she was quite pretty, he thought to himself.

"Can I call ye 'Miss' now?"

"Henry, don't be absurd."

"Well, ye never know…"

Emma smiled, cheered to see her good friends after weeks of seeing either strangers or acquaintances from many years ago.

"So, tell us abou' this Frederick," Henry demanded.

"He is my cousin, on my father's side."

"Oh."

"And my fiancé."

"Oh. Ooooh! Emms, I'm so 'appy for ye!"

"I am quite happy," she said with a smile.

"Our Emms don' need no Prince, she 'as-"

"A rat," Vincent growled.

"Vincent, I beg your pardon!" Emma exclaimed.

"He snitched on the Duchess. He bewitched the whole court into believing him, didn't he? Though, he has no money, nor power."

"He was speaking the truth. She killed my father, Vincent!"

Emma could not believe that her dear friend and protector was acting in this way. She took off in the direction of her little hut. She took up the remaining nut and hid it in a pocket, while stowing the rest of the things in a little silk bag she had brought with her. A tear fell from her eye and she angrily dried it; she was no weakling, to cry for the loss of a servant-friend!

"I am going now," she intoned as she left. "Henry, you are welcome to come and serve in my house." A pause. "As are you, Vincent."

She knew they had heard, but they did not respond. Perhaps propriety had caught up with Vincent at last.

Just as Emma came out onto the terrace, Maria was walking in, looking very disheveled and not at all like her usual self.

"Emma?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Maria."

"You have come back for your things, I suppose," she said sullenly.

"I have."

"I thank you for your generosity," she whispered, barely loudly enough for even Emma to hear.

She knew, of course. Her life was a shambles, but the only person who did not truly desert her was the person she had tortured all of her life.

"If I can repay you in any way in the future…"

"Repay me now," Emma said firmly.

Maria raised a startled glance to her stepsister's stony look.

"I am not good and kind, Maria. I did what I felt was right. However, I cannot yet forgive you for the suffering you caused me. Therefore, I ask of you. Leave this place, and return only when you have made yourself anew. I will furnish you with more funds, if need be. I ask only that you do not return until you are no longer the spoiled brat I grew up with!" She finished softly, though her exclamation was poignant.

Maria, who had seen the most terrible aspect of the world in the past few weeks only nodded her head.

"I will need nothing else. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Emma watched as she walked slowly back into the house. It was not Maria's fault she was the way she was. But as she had said, she could not forgive quite so quickly. After all, she had only wanted a sister, but instead been saddled with a monster. For all the misery Maria was undergoing now, Emma had undergone exponentially more.

Those were the thoughts she comforted herself with as she rode away from the Duchess's palace, now more hateful to her than ever before.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The day of the wedding soon arrived. It was a lovely March morning, not a cloud in the sky, and Emma was sitting at her boudoir, preparing her toilette.

"Mistress, you will be the most beautiful bride in all England!" Mrs. Williams proclaimed as she draped the dress and the veil around her. The entire castle was filled with people, a few invited by Emma, mostly invited by Frederick. She had not seen her groom in two months, ever since the day after she had made her decision.

She was not nervous; she felt she was doing her duty. Even if she did not truly love Frederick, she could learn to love him. The Prince was a distant memory in her mind. She had seen neither hide nor hair of him since that fateful night.

Emma was happy in many ways. She was finally able to settle down and enjoy that which her father had left for her. She was doing what he wanted before he died. Best of all, she would have a family now. She was confident that Frederick loved her. The times when she had been with him had been intimate and passionate. Despite her consent to marry him, he continued to woo her. Everything was right about this match.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As the bride descended the stairs, hundreds of eyes turned to stare at her. She was adorned in the finest of everything. Her beauty was exquisite to behold, for she had veritably bloomed in these last few months of joy.

Frederick was smiling his serene smile. She could not fault him. He was a man of limited passion.

The ceremony began and ended. The feast also began and ended. Everything was perfect. Frederick was a wonderful dancer, and he did

not drink in excess. His handsome face glowed with pride every time he beheld his lovely wife. He was courteous to all, and they, in turn, were magnificent guests, many of whom held high titles and great power.

The wedding celebration was over for the night, and the newlyweds retired to their bedchamber. The door was locked for the night, and Emma stepped towards the bed demurely.

Frederick looked at her with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

"What is it, Freddy?" she asked, again using the childish pet name.

"Life is such a strange medley of joy and sorrow."

"Mostly joy," she replied, her eyes shining.

"Yes, you are right about that. Your father's death was a terrible blow, but now we are married. You are my legally wedded wife and I your husband."

"And Lord," she reminded him. Along with the money, her husband inherited her father's title."

"Yes, and Lord," he replied, with the same strange expression. "Our wedding feast was splendid and you looked glorious. So, with the happiness of our marriage, we shall mingle sorrow, as well."

"What do you mean, Freddy?" she asked, with the faintest tremor in her voice.

"I never thought I should become a husband and a widower within the same day…"

A/N: No comment on this particular chapter. I will leave that to my readers.

Brizo: Very intuitive. Thanks for reviewing and keep reading to learn more!

InChrist: I hope I didn't mislead you too much! And I can't wait to see your inspired story…

LauraShrub: About the squirming, I can only say that a girl like that can only keep men squirming for so long in a story like this. Plus, you will soon see why she would not have kept them waiting for more than a few days, anyway.

ObsessiveCompulsive: Titania::Updates daily: Was that soon enough:-D

Saffie: Emma's father died when she was thirteen and she is sixteen now, so about three years. I agree about the whole parent-matchmaking scheme. But we must remember, Emma is a dutiful daughter and does the right thing. Most of the time. As for the rest, all of your questions will soon be answered!

ScoutcraftPiratess: I was so pleased to see all of your reviews, and so detailed, too! I was actually a big fan of your stories before I got an account on Fanfic (that's why I left only occasional Anonymous reviews). So cool that you should like my story now! And believe me, random passion is not my style at all. Good things take time.

El Boxer: I am so glad! Enjoy!

Much love, I await your reviews anxiously!

-Titania


	13. A Fight, In A Nutshell

Emma recoiled, the reaction of finding a snake within reach of one's bosom.

"Freddy, you can't be serious…" she quavered.

"Oh, darling, of course I am," he stated, his cool smile present, as always, upon his face. With those words, he withdrew a dagger, its handle encrusted with sapphires, from his belt.

Emma shook and attempted to back away towards the door. She found, however, that her legs would not obey.

"Don't bother," he said simply, eyeing her attempts to flee.

"Y-you'll get caught! They'll know it was you! You and I are alone in this room, there is a crowd downstairs and servants outside that can attest to that!" she cried.

"No, no, they will think that the disgraced Duchess of Westbourne has murdered you," he placidly said.

"She… she didn't kill my father at all, did she?"

"What, that woman? She had not the nerves to go through with it. She left the dirty work to me."

"I don't understand. Freddy, why are you doing this!"

He walked over and grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. Her legs had regained movement as he forcibly walked her over to the bed and made her sit upon it. She tried to resist, but found it quite impossible.

"You see, my dear wife, I was not in any way going to inherit your father's money after you were born. 'Sins of the fathers' and all that. Why should I be punished, I, a man, simply for being the child of the younger brother? It was not fair! Then, she came along. I was a child, too, then. But eighteen years of age. She also understood the threat you posed to her inheritance. So, she struck a deal with me. If I helped her murder your father, she would eliminate you by herself and then I would be in a position to marry her daughter and inherit half the wealth."

"You are a sick man!" she exclaimed. "We would have offered you any assistance you needed!"

"Don't interrupt me!" he snarled, for the first time breaking his calm demeanour. He then continued.

"After your father died, she decided to go back on her part of the deal. I knew she would kill you soon after, or so I had thought. I suppose she was still to weak to do that. But, the point is, she drew back on her promise to wed me to her daughter. I simply could not stand that, but to accuse the Duchess of murder, especially when I was the one who directly killed the man, would be to place the noose around my own neck and allowing her to step over my corpse. So I disappeared."

Emma was shivering now. The cold tone of his voice and his calm depiction of such brutality was unbearable.

"So, you see, the Duchess did not in fact murder your father; she simply organized it."

"But… the letter? Her confession?"

Frederick began to laugh.

"I learned a great many skills in my travels. I went to the continent and pursued the study of our geneology. You see, dear heart (this was said with the most sarcastic tone possible), we share a very powerful bloodline. Quite rich in magic and the like."

Despite her own experience with unusual enchanted objects, she now found herself laughing, in turn, at what he said.

"Now I know you are mad."

"Do not dare address me so, wretch!" he shrieked, striking her across the face with the back of his hand. She was unable to move out of the way, and so felt the full impact of the blow. Involuntary tears poured from her eyes.

"Yes, magic! Do you not wonder why you are unable to move, why none of the servants have entered this room, despite all the noise we have made?" He lapsed into a thoughtful moment.

"It is truly a wonder. Many said I had sold my soul to the devil for my abilities. In truth, I had spent three years, traveling and studying the dark arts. My ability, combined with ancient knowledge, allowed me to return to England and take my revenge."

"No, it couldn't be. No…"

"Of course it could be, Emma dear. Perhaps you are familiar with a little stem which harbours three hazelnuts."

Emma looked up, startled.

"Did you like my little gifts?" Again, he laughed harshly.

"But, why?"

"The hunter's suit was one of mine. I wanted you to meet that fool of a prince; even a servant girl might need a little push to encourage her to risk all to attend a ball. I did recognize you by your gown that night. I knew you would try to appear inconspicuous and, in truth, I had quite forgotten what you might look like. That gown enabled me to find you that much more quickly."

"What do you want from me, Frederick?" Her eyes were cold with hate, for she now realized her mistake.

"I want you to perish. By marrying me, you have passed your father's title to me. As for the money, that is also mine now. You see, I am much better off this way than had I married Maria. Now I am both a Lord and wealthy. She would have provided no title for me, and only half of the wealth. Your role in my life is over. I have no need of you living, while, dead, you transform me into a grieving widower. Perhaps, in a year, when I am done mourning, I shall have a moneyed countess to call my own."

As he had continued to speak, Emma had been processing what he said earlier. _"..we share a very powerful bloodline. Quite rich in magic and the like."_ If he had magic, perhaps so did she. As he continued to speak, she continued to struggle against her invisible bonds, though now consciously calling upon a higher power to assist her in this.

"So, you see, the hazelnuts, the forged letter, the falsified documents attesting that your father had arranged a marriage between us… all of these were of my doing and part of my plan. The Duchess is weak-minded, so she fell easily to my control. She might have confessed to half the murders in the country had I so wished it."

"What was in the third nut?" Emma asked suddenly.

"The third? Why, nothing at all. I knew at that point I should have you in my control. You would never have chosen to wed the prince."

"You do not know that!"

"Oh, but I do. You are afraid to be a princess. You are afraid of that exalted position, which should put you before the eyes of the entire kingdom."

She knew this was true, but continued to protest, stalling for time. In fact, she had managed to free her hands, and was now trying to find a certain silk purse she had on her person.

"Did you ever find my bracelet?"

"What bracelet is that?" he asked, toying with the dagger.

"My silver one. It fell off in your hand that night I fled."

"What do I care what became of it? I remember no such trifle."

"You said the Duchess was to be my murderer…."

"Yes. You see, she escaped, quite easily (for she was guided by me) and made her way here on foot. In the morning, the servants shall be called in by a loud noise, a scream, and heart-rending sobs (all provided by me). They shall find you with a dagger in your heart, the Duchess's hand on the dagger, and the rest of the Duchess unconscious, having been struck by me, trying to defend you. She will be summarily hanged, having murdered both the father and the daughter."

He continued to smile, quite pleased with his plan. Meanwhile, Emma had found what she had been looking for.

"Enough talk. To business!"

With those words, he raised the dagger and aimed for her chest. At that very moment, Emma raised her own arm, to throw something small upon the ground. As the two halves of the nutshell fell apart, a sword materialized, the basket of gilt silver and gold inlay, while the blade was carved with all manners of beautiful emblems.

Frederick paused only for a moment, shocked by this development, but it was enough to prove fatal. Emma grabbed the sword and expertly struck him, piercing his body clean through.

His scream was heard by everyone this time, and the servants rushed in to find the lord of the house dead on the ground, surrounded by a pool of his own spilled blood, which seemed quite black. The lady was standing over him, holding a dripping sword and panting.

A/N: Cool, huh? This whole idea occurred to me when I woke up from a dream. I have been waiting to write this part ever since I first introduced Frederick. It seemed the perfect way to tie all of this together. Still, don't fear, dear readers! As I said before, this story is not over yet! Not at all! Just because the villain is dead, that does not mean this is the end.

Brizo: You almost read my mind. I hope it wasn't that obvious… Still, glad you understand the characters that well!

BiancaRobinson: I love your nickname for Frederick!

Clar-the-Pirate: I am glad you decided to make yourself heard. Reviews allow me to know what people like and don't like, so to hear from somebody who likes it that much is really wonderful. And, yes, I blushed.

El Boxer: God, I love foreshadowing. Especially subtle foreshadowing. Tiny little things. That is my absolute favourite.

Scoutcraft Piratess: Titania::Steals Piratess's exclamation of 'Flint and Steel'; is consequently harassed for being too antiquated… But, seriously, I remember reading one of your suspicions in a previous review and thinking to myself, 'Damn, did I give it away that easily?' Also, I was originally not going to write that scene with Maria, but decided it was almost as important as this scene with Frederick, for reasons that will become clear later. I'm very pleased that you liked it.

Saffie: Not to worry, everything will be taken care of. And I couldn't have Dominic kill Frederick. After all, Emma is a much better shot, if you remember…

ObsessiveCompulsive: Always happy to please. Sexy bad guys are always so much more fun, aren't they?

Swatter: Random? Possibly. I wanted to do something unexpected, so it may have come off as a bit random. I hope this chapter explains that. Also, I hope that Emma hasn't changed too much. She was a bit flat at the beginning of this story, but I attribute that to the difficult life she has been forced to lead. A person changes under duress. Now that she is back in her higher position, she can afford to be a bit of a brat.

InChrist: Seriously… HOW DID YOU KNOW? Cadmus is very clever… Now you know why Frederick wants to kill her. The man is on a serious power trip… I am so glad that my sleep-deprived state of writing is pleasing to you. I would not stay up and write after eight hours of work if it wasn't for wonderful readers like you!

Da Vinci: I don't know. Fluff really isn't my thing. I did try to put in some cackling, or at least sophisticated laughter (which is more Freddy's style) into this chapter. Glad you like the story nevertheless.

LauraShrub: Yes, you do have a reason. I haven't liked him from the beginning. I wrote him as a person who does not reveal himself. I would personally rather be with a person who blurts out every idiot thing that comes to mind than someone as collected and controlled as he is. :Hugs back:

To all of my lovely readers: You, and not highly caffeinated Turkish coffee, keep me awake at night to write these. I simply couldn't live with myself if I didn't finish this story. I want to finish it before I leave for University, though, and that is in little more than a week. So, happy reading.

My love to all of you,

-Titania


	14. A Rather Dank and Depressing Dialogue

"No, let go of me!" Emma shouted, as she was pulled out of the door by one of the burlier male servants.

Mrs. Williams was sobbing at the door.

"Why, milady, why?"

"He attacked me!" she yelled, frustrated that nobody would believe her. However, she was not in any way injured, except for a bruise across her left cheek, which was just beginning to materialize, while Frederick was dead, pierced through by a sword she had held.

The servants were in an uproar and did not know what to do. It was murder, plain and simple, but what authority did they have arresting a lady, the lady of the house? Fortunately for them, the party had not entirely disintegrated yet, and several individuals, including the local constable, had remained behind.

As Emma was led down, she wondered what would become of the Duchess, who had escaped in order to be set up. Now that the man who held the strings was dead, would she fall limp as a puppet and be left to defend herself in whatever way possible?

While the constable discussed with some nobles what was to be done with Emma, the sun began to rise. The pink fingers of dawn touched everything in the house and illuminated it. Emma had a distant thought… was Frederick's blood so dark because there was no light to make it quite red, or had all of his evil deeds done something to it?

Emma's last thought before she was helped into the carriage was what was to be done with her now…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Not even week had passed before Emma was to be tried. Most of the individuals indirectly involved in the case simply wanted to end it by calling her insane. Others thought that she had ulterior motives from the very beginning. The only thing that anybody knew for certain was that Frederick, the most recent Lord de Winter, had been killed by his newly-wed bride.

The Duchess had been found, dead from a rupture of the heart. Emma would wonder whether life had simply seemed useless at that point; certainly, she would only be hanged if found.

As for Maria, she had left, just as she had promised. Her return was not expected anytime soon, and Emma was glad to have it this way.

Before this short week was over, Emma would be questioned and brought as near to torture as a lady could be, denied food and water until she answered the questions the examiners asked. She refused to lie, but could not tell the whole truth without seeming mad, either, so she was very often punished for the combination of these two. After a particularly terrible day, she heard the door behind her groan with the weight of a man pushing against it.

Before her inquisitor could begin, she spoke coldly.

"I have already told you. Hundreds of times. He attacked me."

"I believe you," a gentle voice answered.

Emma turned from her position on the bench and stared at Prince Dominic, dressed in simple clothes to escape much detection. He had, of course, only obtained permission to enter because he had revealed himself to be the prince to the guards. Apart from that, he did not want anybody to know. His duty here was not as a prince, but as a man in love.

"You… why have you come?"

"I needed to know something, Lady de Winter."

"You may call me Emma," she humbly whispered.

"Emma, then."

"What did you need to know?"

"Why did you kill him?"

"He attacked me. He had it planned all along. He wanted my father's title and what money he would obtain. Then he would marry and kill another wealthy woman."

"How did you defend yourself?" he asked, with some surprise.

Emma was silent for a long time. Then,

"My father taught me swordplay and how to shoot from a bow when I was young. I am quite good at it."

"Oh." He also was silent after this. A thought occurred to him.

"Um… No, never mind."

"Your Highness, why are you truly here?"

"I have a name!" he snapped. Calming down, he also hushed his tones. "My name is Dominic."

"Dominic. You are a man of the Lord?" she asked, rather seriously.

"So it would seem," he said with a slight laugh.

"Then you must have nothing to do with me. I have blood on my hands."

"You defended yourself!" he protested. 

"In truth," she said, blushing, "I might have spared him death. I could simply have wounded him, rendered him helpless until I could get help."

"I don't believe that."

"No?" Emma was surprised that he could be that intuitive. Surely, he could not know about the constant threat that would face her if Frederick, and his powers, remained upon this earth.

"Such a man would not let injury stop him."

Again, there was a pause. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a flask and a small wrapped package.

"Food, and water," he answered her questioning glance. "I was told you were not being taken care of." He seemed indignant, to think that she should not be taken care of.

"Emma," he whispered, as she nibbled at the food.

"Yes, Dominic?"

"I… I must confess that I am in love with you."

"You don't know me, Dominic, enough to love me," she said with a sigh.

"Are you afraid?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you did not suspect Frederick. You even seemed quite content, which is why I left without a fight. But now you are frightened to be betrayed again.

This was partly the truth, and a shadow passed over Emma's eyes as he spoke.

Again, there was silence as she continued to eat and drink.

"You said that before, you know."

"Said what?" she asked, looking up at him.

"That I didn't know you well enough to love you. At the ball, you said that."

"It is the truth."

"It _was_ the truth," he corrected. "It is different now. Then, you were a beautiful maid in a beautiful dress. Now, I see so much more of you…"

"But not enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you found an answer to my riddles?"

"N-no." He was growing irritated. What did she want with those silly riddles?

"Well, until you answer them…"

Dominic understood this to be her way of saying "Good day, now kindly leave my presence." He didn't need telling twice.

He stood up, a cold look in his eye.

"I have come here with a pardon from my father the king."

"W-what?" Now it was her turn to be somewhat shocked.

"It seems that your Duchess had heart enough to write a full account of Frederick's past deeds and planned deeds to accuse him and pardon you."

"She _what_?"

"She was found dead, but with a letter in her hand, addressed to the royal family. Inside, she described Frederick's role in her father's death and his plans to kill you. Much remains unexplained, especially how he managed to manipulate her, but it is enough to free you."

Without a single look back, he walked out of the small cell, leaving Emma gaping after him like a gobsmacked fish.

A/N: Sorry, I don't have enough time to reply to all of your reviews in today's update. I want you to know, though, that I very much appreciate all of them! Thank you so much. It really is all that keeps me going; work is hard! But today, I have a special surprise. The first person to review or message me and guess what my first name is will be able to tell me which fairy tale to retell next. I swear I will write it, and well! I am very fond of all fairy tales, and there is not one which I have not read at least once. All fairy tales qualify; different cultures and all that. Even combination fairy tales might be fun! And now, let me be Emma for a minute and give you a hint as to my first name:

My first is everyone in sum;

My second marks the spot;

My third combines two nearby things;

My fourth rules something hot!

If you guess my name, I will let you know and you can pick the fairy tale! (If you have trouble with the riddle, think of it as charades, in a way. Combine all of the clues. It's not an uncommon name.)

All of my love to you,

-Titania


	15. The Dawn of A New Era

It is not an easy task to return to a house where you have killed somebody. But what choice did Emma have? Her life was tied to this house, for she could not see herself returning to the Duchess's palace. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to come back to the gloom of the place.

The servants were wary of her and often cast sidelong glances at each other, as if to say, "Be on your guard—this one is dangerous." Emma could not blame them for thinking this; after all, she had killed her husband on their wedding night and they knew only what was gossiped in the halls.

She felt isolated and frightened. Around every corner, she expected to see Frederick's face looming over her like a monstrous shadow. Every second was dominated by the thought that he would find a way back from the dead and she would no longer be able to defend herself. She thought very little of Dominic at this time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Alright, Dom, what's the matter?" a boisterous voice echoed through the throne room.

Edward and Thomas walked in to see Dominic sitting hunched over, displeased and brooding.

"Nothing," he grumbled to nobody in particular.

"Your Highness, you can tell us," Edward suggested. "You can trust us as your confidantes."

"He doesn't need to tell us, what?" Thom said with a grin. "It's that girl."

"She has a name!" he snapped.

"What is it with you and names lately, Dom?"

"It's not about that…"

"Then what is it about? I haven't seen you this moody since the day that ash-covered peasant hit you in the face with a snowball," Thom frowned.

A pause followed this, then,

"What did you say?"

"That you haven't been this moody—"

"About the peasant girl! Ash-covered, yes?"

"She was quite filthy."

"Yes, I remember," Ed added, trying to be helpful.

"She had a face… covered with soot and ashes…"

"Yes, Dom, we just said that. Look, stop thinking about that woman from the ball. She's a murderer!"

"She is not!" he exclaimed, jumping to her defense.

"Dom, she killed her own husband!"

"You don't understand. Good with a sword…" he was now pacing the throne room and muttering under his breath.

"Your Highness, what is the matter?" Edward asked, alarmed, while Thom shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course!" Dominic exclaimed. Thom and Ed jumped.

With that, he dashed off in the direction of his chambers.

"What's the matter with him?" Edward asked, almost nervously.

"I don't know. But if I didn't know better I would say he was going after that filthy peasant girl."

"The peasant-?"

"But we know better. He probably just didn't want to talk to us anymore."

"Probably."

They stood in silence, contemplating rude peasants, confused princes, and the irony of the fact that the one woman Dominic fell in love with had rejected him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Emma was in her room when a knock came on the door. It was slow and measured.

The sound startled Emma out of her reverie. She had been sitting upon her bed and tears of frustration were leaking from her eyes. Nobody would make eye contact with her and nobody wanted to speak with her. She was alone and furthermore, she was unwanted. She had done nothing to deserve this. It wasn't her fault that the only individual who seemed to care despite the recent murder was that selfish prince…

The knock made her think of Dominic. Had he followed her here?

However, her vanity was dashed when the door slowly opened and Henry stood on the threshold.

"Henry!" She quickly recovered herself and was soon by his side, embracing him with all the emotion a companion-deprived young woman was capable of.

"Emms!" he exclaimed in response, hugging her fervently, as well. He quickly changed his tone and backed away, however. "I'm sorry…. Milady."

"Don't call me that!" she practically sobbed as he backed away.

"But you are a lady…" he said, with some confusion.

"It's not something I want."

"Would you rath'r go back t' sweepin' under the Duchess's feet?"

"No! Yes.. I don't know."

"Emms," he returned to the familiar name with ease, now that he knew she would rather hear it. "I can' tell you wha' to do. But don' you think you're bet'r off this way?"

"How am I better off? Everyone thinks I'm an insane murderer!"

"To be sure, Emms, 's not an easy thin' to pi'ture you killin' someone. But Vincen' knew."

"Knew what?"

"Tha' Freddy fellow was up to no good!"

"He… he what?"

"Tha's why he was angry a' you tha' time, remember? He didn' know why you wanted to marry someone like tha'."

"Oh. Oh, I see… Henry, why have you come here?"

"I though' you migh' be needin' a friend righ' abou' now…"

She could only smile with tears in her eyes.

"Did I guess righ'?"

He was answered only by another fierce embrace.

Suddenly, they were both again interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of a startled maidservant.

"M-milady, His Highness is here to see you."


	16. Decisions, Decisions

Dominic stood at the bottom of the staircase with bated breath, wondering whether she would come down or simply have him sent away. He did not know what he would do if she refused him now. But she couldn't. He had solved her riddle, so she had no reason to turn him away.

Emma, however, did not yet know this.

"Your Highness, may I inquire as to the purpose of your visit here?"

"I have come to ask for your hand in marriage," he replied without wavering. Inside, his heart was pounding and blood was rushing to his head at an alarming rate simply at the sight of her.

"Your Highness, until you solve my riddle—"

"I know! I know it. And I have come here with the solutions."

"Have you?" She was rather surprised by that.

"Mademoiselle, I am certain that this once belonged to you."

With those words, he held out a small wicker basket to her, which had once been the cause of so much anxiety. There were a few grains which did not belong there and even looking upon them made Emma wince with the remembered pain of the sixteen lashes.

"Covered in soot and ashes, yet not a chimney sweep?" he asked softly, breaking her daze.

"I don't know what to say, Sire." This was very true. How had he figured it out was all that ran through her mind. Though the Duchess's lie had been discovered, it was not popular knowledge that she had been a servant; only that she had been sequestered away from society.

"Tell me only if I am correct."

"You are," she conceded, with a slight sigh.

"Then, am I to guess the next part? This… this was yours, as well, once."

He held out to her an arrow which had pierced the heart of a pine cone.

"Bow and arrows, feathered cap, but not a hunter? Am I correct in this, also?"

"Yes, Your Highness." Emma took the proffered item complacently.

"Then, only one left!"

With that, he withdrew a small silver bracelet from a pocket.

Emma gasped softly, for she had thought it to be long gone.

"It is very small, wouldn't you agree, Milady?"

"It is quite small," she acquiesced, allowing herself a small smile.

"It would only fit the wrist of a princess, even one who claims she is not. 'Silks and satins, jewels of all varieties, but not a princess.' Why aren't you a princess, Emma?"

Emma had been holding out her right hand for him to place the bracelet upon it. These words made her shudder and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"It cannot be!"

"What cannot be?" Now he was worried, for she seemed quite upset by something.

"Your Highness, I cannot be a princess!"

"But why?"

"Because… because… I cannot!"

He swallowed nervously, then came towards her. Taking her hand in his, he slid the bracelet onto her slender wrist and kissed her hand. She did not jerk away.

"Emma, I love you. I do not know everything about you, but I will have the rest of my life to learn, if only you will consent to be my wife."

There was a long silence, and a gasp was heard from abovestairs, most likely produced by the nosy maidservant, who was leaning over the balustrade with Henry, trying to overhear.

"Your Hi—Dominic. I will consent to be your wife," she whispered. His face lit up at those words.

"Oh, Emma, you—"

"But not your princess," she finished.

"How can that be?" he asked with a sheepish smile.

"It must be that way, else I will call off the engagement," she responded quite seriously.

"Emma, if you marry me, you will become a princess. That is all there is to it."

"Only if you are still a prince."

"Do you want me to give up my throne?" he asked and laughed skeptically. She did not change expression and he instantly sobered.

"Good God, you are serious…"

"I am."

"Nothing will change your mind?"

"Nothing."

"And if I don't give up my throne?"

"I will not become your wife."

"As my subject, you are obligated to do as I command."

"I know it."

Again, there was silence. Emma knew she had to obey if he commanded her. Dominic knew she would obey if he commanded her. However, that was hardly the seed for a long and healthy marriage.

"Who will rule in my stead?"

"You have a brother, if I am not mistaken?"

"He is only ten."

"He will grow older."

"Goodness, did you think this through!"

"No. I only know that I cannot be a princess."

"Would you rather be a servant?" he asked with a sarcastic tone.

"I will stay here as Lady of the manor. You are welcome to join me as a Lord." Here, she paused, then added softly, "More than welcome."

A great battle was raging within Dominic. His heart yearned to obey her every command, but his mind told him to forget her and leave such a threat behind. She had killed before. What was she truly capable of?

"Will you decide now, or later?" her soft tones inquired.

He looked at the floor for a long time. Then,

"My father will not be happy about this."

**FIN**

A/N: It is finished! Amazing… Well, it is still August, so I hope I kept my promise. Almost. I love all of you for reviewing. Keep watching this story for one more update, which will contain a few notes, all of my special thank-you's to reviewers, and even answers to questions any of you may ask in your reviews.

I would also like to mention that Cenicienta won the competition. She guessed my name to be Alexandra, which it is. You can all look forward to a retelling of the Twelve Dancing Princesses to be up soon, as requested by the winner of my riddle contest. I will continue to post up these riddles in future stories, so sharpen your skills!

Much love to ALL!

-Titania


	17. A Final Note

And so we come to the end! Or do we? Surprise! I really have fallen in love with these characters, so I intend to continue the story of what happens to Emma and Dominic, now Lord and Lady de Winter. Think of it as a continuation of this story, but no longer based solely on Cinderella. Other fairy tales will be included.

And so, I hope that I can answer most of your answers not directly, but circuitously, through the story.

I have to admit, the idea of Dominic giving up his throne was important to the continuation of this story. I just don't see a princess being involved in the sort of life I intend to write about.

I thank you all so much for the encouragement and excellent advice you have provided. Special thanks go out to:

InChrist: You were one of my first reviewers and truly encouraged me to write. I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

LauraShrub: Always an excellent judge of character, I very much appreciated your input and your foresight. (It helped me change things when I was being too obvious.)

Saffie: An absolutely wonderful reviewer, who always contributed a great point of view. Always happy to hear from you!

ScoutcraftPiratess: A later contributor, but still so consistent and herself a fantastic author! Thank you for your encouragement.

Cenicienta: Another person who started reading later on, but still contributed some great ideas. Also, you solved my riddle, which made me really happy! Sit tight for the 'Princesses'!

DaVinci: A later contributor who also helped me to push this story through to the end. Thanks!

And last, but not least,

ObsessiveCompulsive: Thank you for your insight! You really understood my characters and what I was trying to say.

To everybody not specifically mentioned here, I want you to know that I really, truly appreciate what you did for me. I could not have written this without the encouragement I received. And see what came of it! I love you all so much and am truly grateful for your support!

Much, much love,

Titania (Alexandra)

KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT IN THE DE WINTER STORY! HERE'S A RIDDLE TO HELP YOU FIGURE OUT THE NEXT FAIRY TALE…

A Danish story of uncertain source,

Which plots true love and failure's course.

But still entwined with English tales,

Of doomed young men and fiery gales!

Good luck, you'll know the answer soon!


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